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THE FT^NNY OI,r> GENTLEMAN. 


Page 26. 










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LITTLE TRUDY SERIES. 



SISTER SUSY. 


SOPHIE M A • 


COPYft,^^ 

AUG 9- , . , 

/'S'3 2-6 X 

BOSTON 1893 ^ 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

To MILK STKBBT NEXT “ THE OLU SOUTH MEETING HOUSE ” 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864', by 
LEE & SHEPARD, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts, 


Copyright, 1892, by Rebecca S. Clarke. 


Little Prddy’s Sister Susy. 




MY LITTLE TsTIECE, 


KATIE CLARKE. 


THIS BOOK IS FOB YOU, KATIE.. 


■vriTH THE LOVE OF TOUB 


AUNTIE, 


SOPHIE MAY’S 

LITTLE FOLKS’ BOOKS. 

Atiy volume sold separately, 

DOTTY DIMPLE SERIES. —Six volumes. Illustrated. 

Per volume, 75 cents. 

Dotty Dimple at her Grandmother’s. 

Dotty Dimple at Home. 

Dotty Dimple out “West. 

Dotty Dimple at Play. 

Dotty Dimple at School. 

Dotty Dimple’s Flyaway, 

FLAXIE FRIZZLE STORIES. — Six volumes. Illus- 
trated. Per volume, 75 cents. 

Flaxie Frizzle. Little Pitchers. Flaxie’s Kittyleen. 

Doctor Papa. The Twin Cousins. Flaxie Growing Up. 

LITTLE PRUDY STORIES. — Six volumes. Hand, 
somely Illustrated. Per volume, 76 cents. 

Little Prudy. 

Little Prudy’s Sister Susy. 

Little Prudy’s Captain Horace. 

Little Prudy’s Story Book. 

. Little Prudy’s Cousin Grace. 

Little Prudy’s Dotty Dimpla 

LITTLE PRUDY’S FLYAWAY SERIES. -Six 

volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents. 

Little Folks Astray. Little Grandmother. 

Prudy Keeping House. Little Grandfather. 

Aunt Madge’s Story. Miss Thistledown 


LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS, 
BOSTON. 


PREi^iCE. 


Here is a story about the oldest of the three 
little Parlin girls, “ Sister Susy ; ” though so 
many things are always happening to Prudy 
that it is not possible to keep her out of the 
book. 

I hope my dear little friends will see how 
kind it was in God to send the “ slow winter ” 
and the long nights of pain to little Prudy. 

If trouble should come to us, let. us grow 
gentle, and patient, and lovely. 

Little friends, be sure of one thing — our dear 
Father in heaven sends us something hard to 
bear only because he loves us. 


( 5 ) 


CONTENTS 


■BArTlB 

I. Keeping Secrets, 

II. Before Daylight, . 

III. Susy’s Christmas, 

IV. Susy’s Wings, . 

V. Prudy’s Trouble, 

VI. Rosy Frances Eastman Mary, 

VII. Little Troubles, 

VIII. Annie Lovejoy, 

IX. Moral Courage, 

X. Ruthie Turner, . . 

XI. Susy’s Birthday, 

XII. Farewell, . . 


rial 

c 

15 

25 

41 

65 

72 

96 

114 

133 

149 

174 

183 


< 6 ) 


SISTER SUSY. 


CHAPTER I. 

KEEPING SECRETS. 

We might begin this story of Susy Parlin 
on a New Year’s day, only it is so hard to 
skip over Christmas. There is such a charm 
about Christmas! It makes you think at 
once of a fir tree shining with little candles 
and sparkling with toys, or of a droll Santa 
Claus with a pack full of presents, or of a 
waxen angel called the Christ-child. 

And it is just as well to date from the 
twenty-fifth of December, because, as " Christ 
was born on Christmas day,” that is really 
the " Happy New Year.” 


6 


SISTER SUSY. 


For a long while the three little Parlin 
girls had been thinking and dreaming of 
presents. Susy’s wise head was like a bee- 
hive, full of little plans and little fancies, 
which were flying about like bees, and buzz- 
ing in everybody’s ears. 

But it may be as well to give you a short 
description of the Parlin family. 

Susy’s eyes were of an '' evening blue,” 
the very color of the sky in a summer night ; 
good -eyes, for they were as clear as a well 
which has the "truth” lying at the bottom 
of it. She was almost as nimble as a squir- 
rel, and could face a northern snow storm 
like an engineer. Her hair was dark brown, 
and as smooth and straight as pine-needles ; 
while Prudy’s fair hair rippled like a brook 
running over pebbles. Prudy’s face was 
sunn}^, and her mouth not much larger than 
a button-hole. 


KEEPING SECRETS. 


7 


The youngest sister was named Alice, but 
the family usually called her Dotty, or Dotty 
Dimple, for she was about as round as a 
period, and had a cunning little dimple in 
each cheek. She had bright eyes, long 
curls, and a very short tongue ; that is, 
she did not talk much. She was two years 
and a half old before she could be prevailed 
upon to say anything at all. Her father 
declared that Dotty thought there were peo- 
ple enough in the world to do the talking, 
and she would keep still ; or perhaps she 
was tired of hearing Prudy say so much. 

However, she had a way of nodding her 
curly head, and shaking her plump little fore- 
finger ; so everybody knew very well wha< 
she meant. She had learned the use of 
signs from a little deaf and dumb boy of 
whom we shall hear more by and by ; but 
all at once, when she was ready she began 


SISTER SUSY. 


to talk with all her might, and soon made 
up for lost time. 

The other members of the family were 
only grown people : Mr. and Mrs. Parlin, 
the children’s excellent parents ; Mrs. Read, 
their kind Quaker grandmother ; and the 
Irish servant girl, Norah. 

Just now Miss Margaret Parlin, their 
aunt Madge,” was visiting them, and the 
little girls felt quite easy about Christmas, 
for they gave it all up to her; and when 
they wanted to know how to spend their 
small stock of money, or how much this or 
that pretty toy would cost, Prudy always 
settled it by saying, ” Let’s go ask auntie : 
she’ll know, for she’s been through the 
Rithmetic.” 

Prudy spoke these words with awe. She 
thought " going through the Rithmetic ” was 
next thing to going round the world.. 


KEEPING SECRETS. 


9 


"O Auntie, I’m so glad you came,’' 
said Susy, '' for I didn’t see how I was ever 
going to finish my Christmas presents : I go 
to school, you know, and it takes me all the 
rest of the time to slide ! ” 

The children were busy making wonderful 
things " all secret ; ” or they would have been 
secret if Prudy hadn’t told. 

For one thing, she wondered very much 
what Susy could be doing with four pins 
stuck in a spool. She Avatched the nimble 
fingers as they passed the worsted thread 
over the pin-heads, making stitches as fast 
as Susy could Avink. 

" It looks like a teenty snake all sticked 
through the hole in the spool,” said Prudy, 
eager Avith curiosity. " If you ain’t a-goin’ to 
speak, I don’t know Avhat I shall do, Susy 
Parlin ! ” 

When poor Susy could not pretend any 


10 


SISTER SUSY. 


longer not to hear, she answered Prudy, 
half vexed, half laughing, dear, I s’pose 
you’ll tease and tease till you find out. 
Won’t you never say a word to anybody, 
never ? ” 

"Never in my world,” replied the little 
one, with a solemn shake of her head. 

" Well, it ’s a lamp mat for auntie. It’s 
going to be blue, and red, and all colors ; and 
when it’s done, mother’ll sew it into a round, 
and put fringe on: Avon’t it be splendid? 
But remember, you promised not to tell ! ” 

Noav, the very next time Prudy sat in her 
auntie’s lap she Avhispered in her ear, — 

" You don’ knoAV what we're making for 
you, all secret, out of Avorsted, and I shan’t 
tell ! ” 

" Mittens ? ” said aunt Madge, kissing 
Prudy’s lips, AA^hich Avere pressed together 
over her SAveet little secret like a pair of 
sugar-tongs clinching a lump of su^ar- 


KEEPING SECRETS. 


11 


Mittens? No, indeed ! Better’n that! 
There’ll be fringe all over it ; it’s in a round ; 
it’s to put something on, — to put the lamp 
on ! ” 

’'Not a lamp-mat, of course ? ” 

"Why, yes it is I O, there, now you’ve 
been and guessed all in a minute ! Susy’s 
gone an’ told ! I didn’t s’pose she’d tell. 1 
wouldn’t for nothin’ in my world ! ” 

Was it strange that Susy felt vexed when 
she found that her nice little surprise was all 
spoiled ? 

" Try to be patient,” said Mrs. Parlin, 
gently. "Remember how young and thought- 
less your sister is. She never means any 
harm.” 

"O, but, mamma,” replied Susy, "she 
keeps me being patient all the whole time, 
and it’s hard work.” 

So Susy, in her vexation, said to Prudy, 


12 


SISTER SUSY. 


rather sternly, ” You little naughty thing, to 
go and tell when you promised not to ! 
You’re almost as bad as Dotty. l\^hat 
makes you act so?” 

"Why, Susy,” said the child, looldng up 
through her tears, " have I acted 9 I didn’t 
know I’d acted ! If you loved me, you 
wouldn’t look that way to me. You wrinkle 
up your face just like Nanny wdien she says 
she’ll shake the naughty out of me. Miss 
Prudy.” 

Then what could Susy do but forgive the 
sweet sister, who kissed her so coaxingly, and 
looked as innocent as a poor little kitty that 
has been stealing cream without knowing it 
is a sin ? 

It was plain that it would not do to trust 
Prudy with secrets. Her brain could not 
'hold them, any more than a sieve can hold 
^ater. So Mrs. Parlin took pity upon Susy, 


KEEPING SECRETS. 


13 


and allowed her and her cousin Florence 
Eastman to lock themselves into her cham- 
l)er at certain hours, and work at their pres- 
ents without interruption. 

While the little girls sat together, busily 
employed with book-marks and pin-cushions, 
the time flew very swiftly, and they were as 
happy as bees in a honeysuckle. 

Mrs. Parlin said she believed nothing less 
than Christmas presents would ever make 
Susy willing to use a needle and thread ; for 
she disliked sewing, and declared she wished 
the man who made the needles had to swal- 
low them all. 

The family were to celebrate Christmas 
evening ; for Mr. Parlin was away, and 
might not reach home in season for Christ- 
mas eve. 

For a wonder they were not to have a 
Tree, but a Santa Claus, "just for a change.” 


SISTER SUSY. 


IG 

now,” exclaimed Susy, indignantly : " I might 
have pricked my fingers to pieces, but I 
wouldn’t have said a word.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Parlin, who were in the 
next room, were wide awake by this time ; 
but they said nothing, only listened to the 
whispers of the children, which grew fainter, 
being smothered and kept down by mouth- 
fuls of candy, lozenges, and peanuts. 

The little girls longed for daybreak. The 
sun, however, seemed to be in no haste, and 
it was a long while before there was a peep 
of light. Susy and Prudy waited, wonder- 
ing whether the sun would really forget to 
show his face ; but all the while they waited 
they were eating candy ; so it was neither 
dull nor lonely. As for closing their eyes 
again, they would have scorned the idea. It 
would be a pity indeed to fall asleep, and 
lose the pleasure of saying " ]\Icrry Christ- 


BEFORE DAYLIGHT. 


17 


mas ” to everybody. Norah, the Irish ser- 
vant, had said she should be up very early to 
attend High Mass : they must certainly way- 
lay her on the stairs. How astonished she 
would be, when she supposed they were botn 
soundly asleep ! 

" Let me do it myself,” said Susy : " you 
stay here, Prudy, for you’ll be sure to make 
a noise.” 

"I’ll go on my tippy toes,” pleaded Prudy, 
lier mouth half filled with chocolate drops. 

So through their mother’s room they stole 
softly, only throwing over one chair, and 
hitting Dotty’s crib a little in their haste. 
Dotty made a sleepy sound of alarm, and 
Prudy could not help laughing, but only " in 
her sleeve,” that is, in her "nightie ” sleeve, 
which she put up to her mouth to smother 
the noise. 

When they had reached the back-stairs 


SISTER SUSY. 


Susy whispered, ” O, Norah is up and gone 
down. I hear her in the kitchen. ’Sh I ’Sh ! ” 

Susy thought there was no time to be lost, 
and she would have rushed down stairs, two 
steps at a time, but her little sister was 
exactly in the way. 

” Somebody has been and tugged my little 
chair up here,” said Prudy, " and I must tug 
it back again.” 

So in the dim light the two children groped 
their way down stairs, Prudy going first 
with the chair. 

” O, what a little snail ! Hurry — can’t 
you?” said Susy, impatiently; "Norah’ll be 
gone ! "What’s the use of our waking up in 
the night if we can’t say Merry Christmas tc 
anybody ? ” 

" Well, aivUt I a-hurryin’ now?” exclaimed 
Prudy, plunging forward and falling, chair 
and all, the whole length of the stairs. 


BEFORE DAYLIGHT. 


19 


All the house was awake now, for Prudy 
screamed lustily. Grandma Read called out 
from the passage-way, — 

" O, little Prudence, has thee broken thy 
neck?” 

Mrs. Pavlin rushed out, too frightened to 
speak, and iSIr. Parlin ran down stairs, and 
took Prudy up in his arms. 

" It was — you — did it — Susy Parlin,” 
sobbed the child. "I shouldn’t — have — fell, 
if you — hadn’t — have — screamed.” 

The poor little girl spoke slowly and with 
difficulty, as if she dropped a bucket into her 
full heart, and drew up the words one at a 
time. 

"O, mother, I know it was me,” said 
Susy meekly ; '' and I was careless, and it 
was all ill the dark. I’m sure I hope 
Prudy ’ll forgive me.” 

"No, it wasn’t you, neither,” said Prudy, 


20 


SISTER SUSY. 


whose good humor was restored the mo* 
ment Susy had made what she considered 
due confession. "You never touched me, 
Susy ! It was the chair; and I love you 
just as dearly as ever I did.” 

Prudy lay on the sofa for some time, look- 
ing quite pale by the gas-light, while her 
mother rubbed her side, and the rest of the 
family stood looking at her with anxious 
faces. 

It was quite an important occasion for 
Prudy, who always liked to be the centre of 
attraction. 

" O, mamma,” said she, closing her eyes 
languidly, " when the room makes believe 
whirl round, does it truly whirl round?” 

The truth was, she felt faint and dizzy, 
though only for a short time. 

"I wish,” said she, " it had been somebody 
else that fell down stairs, and not me, for I 


BEFORE DAYLIGHT. - 21 

didn’t go down easy ! The prongs of the 
chair pushed right into my side.” 

But it did not appear that Prudy was much 
injured, after all. In a few minutes she was 
skipping about the room almost as nimbly as 
ever, only stopping to groan every now and 
then, when she happened to think of it. 

" It is a wonder,” said Mr. Parlin, " that 
more children are not lamed for life by such 
accidents.” 

"I have often thought of it,” said aunt 
Madge. ” Some little ones seem to be mak- 
ing hair-breadth escapes almost every day 
of their lives. I believe Prudy would have 
been in her grave long ago, if it had not been 
for her guardian angel.” 

The long-expected Christmas had come at 
last, and Prudy had stumbled into it, as she 
stumbled into everything else. But it is an 
iU wind which blows no good to anybody ; 


22 


SISTER bUSY. 


and it so happened that in all this confusion 
Susy Avas able to " Avish a Merry Christmas ” 
to Norah, and to the Avhole family besides. 

When Mrs. Parlin found that the children 
Avere too thoroughly aAvake to go to sleep 
again that morning, she told them they might 
dress themselves in the parlor if they Avould 
keep as quiet as possible, and let the rest of 
the household take another nap. 

It all seemed very strange and delightful 
to the little girls. It Avas like another sort 
of life, this iieAv arrangement of stealing 
about the house in the silent hours before 
daybreak. Susy thought she should like to 
sit up all night, and sleep all day, if the 
mayor Avould only hush the streets ; it would 
be so odd ! 

” O, hoAv dark the clouds are ! ” said 
Prudy, peeping out of the Avindow ; ” it fogs 
so I can’t see a single thing. Susy, I’m 


BEFORE DAYLIGHT. 


23 


going to keep at watch of the sky. Don’t 
you s'pose, though, ’twill be Christmas all 
the same, if there’s a snow storm? ” 

"There’s been snow,” said Susy, "all in 
the night. Look down at the pavement. 
Don’t you wish that was frosted cake? ” 

" O, the snow came in the night, so not to 
wake us up,” cried Prudy, clapping her 
hands ; " but it wouldn’t have waked us, you 
know, even in the night, for it came so 
still.” - 

" But why don’t the clouds go off? ” she 
added, sadly. 

" I don’t know,” replied Susy ; " perhaps 
they are waiting till the sun comes and smiles 
them away.” 

Such happy children as these were, as they 
sat peeping out of the window at the dull 
gray sky ! 

They did not know that a great mischief 


24 


SISTER SUSY. 


was begun that morning — a mischief which 
was no larger yet than a " a midge’s wing.” 
They were watching the clouds for a snow 
storm ; but they never dreamed of such 
things as clouds of trouble^ which grow 
darker and darker, and which even the beau- 
tiful Christmas sun cannot " smile away.” 


SUSY’S CIIRISTJVIAS. 


25 


CHAPTER III. 


SUSY’S CHEISTMAS. 

It was bright and beautiful all day, and 
then, when no one could possibly wait any 
longer, it Avas Christmas evening. The coal 
glowed in the grate with a splendid blaze ; 
nil the gas-burners were lighted, and so were 
everybody’s eyes. If one had listened, one 
nught have heard, from out of doors, a joy- 
ful tinkling of sleigh-bells ; yet I fancy 
nobody could have told whether the streets 
were still or noisy, or Avhether the sky had 
a moon in it or not ; for nobody was quiet 
long enough to notice. 


26 


SISTER SUSY. 


But by and by, when the right time had 
eome, the folding-doors were opened, just 
like the two covers to a Christmas fairy 
book. Then, in a second, it was so still you 
might have heard a pin drop. 

Such a funny little old gentleman had 
arrived : his face alive with dimples, and 
smiles, and wrinkles. His cheeks were as 
red and round as winter apples, and where 
there wasn’t a wrinkle there was a dimple ; 
and no doubt there was a dimple in his chin, 
and his chin maybe was double, only you 
couldn’t tell, for it was hidden ever so deep 
under a beard as white as a snow-drift. 

He walked along, tottering under the 

weight of a Huge pack full of presents. He 

extended his small arms towards the audience 

most affectionately, and you could see that 

his antiquated coat-sleeves were bristlin" 

& 

with toys and glistening with ornaments. 


SUSY’S CHMSTMAS. 


27 


His eyes twinkled with fun, and his mouth, 
which seemed nearly worn out Avith laugh- 
ing, grew bigger every minute. 

It took the dear old gentleman some time 
to clear his throat ; but when he had found 
his voice, Avhich at first was as fine as a knit- 
ting-needle, and all of a tremble, he made 

The Speech of Santa Claus. 

"How do, my darlings? How do, all 
round? Bless j^our little hearts, how do 
you all do? Did they tell ye Santa wasn’t 
a-comin’, my dears? Did your grandpas 
and grandmas say, ' Humph ! there isn’t any 
such a person.’ My love to the good old 
people, I know they mean all right ; but 
tell them they’ll have to give it up now ! ” 

(Here Santa Claus made a low boAV. 
Everybody laughed and clapped; but Priidy 
whispered, " 0, don’t he look old all over? 


28 


SISTER SUSY. 


What has he done with his teeth ? O, dear, 
has anybody pulled ’em out ? ”) 

Yes, my dears,” continued the old gen- 
tleman, encouraged by the applause, — " yes, 
my dears, here I am, as jolly as ever ! But 
bless your sweet little hearts, I’ve had a ter- 
rible time getting here ! The wind has been 
bio win’ me up as fierce as you please, and 
I’ve been shook round as if I wasn’t of more 
account than a kernel of corn in a popper ! 

"O, O, I’ve been ducked up to the chin 
in some awful deep snow^-drifts, up there by 
the North Pole ! This is the very first time 
the storms have come so heavy as to cover 
over the end of the North Pole ! But this 
year they had to dig three days before they 
could find it. O, ho ! 

" I was a-wanderin’ round all last night ; 
a real shivery night, too ! Got so broke up, 
there’s nothing left of me but small pieces. 
0, hum ! 


SUSY’s CHEISTaiAS. 


29 


" Such a time as I had in some of those 
chimneys, you haven’t any idee I Why, 
if you’ll believe me, over there in Iceland 
somebody forgot to clear out the chimney, 
and there I stuck fast, like a fish-bone in 
your throat ; couldn’t be picked out, couldn’t 
be swallowed ! 

"The funniest time that was! How I 
laughed ! And then the children’s mother 
woke up, and, 'O, dear,’ said she; 'hear 
the wind sigh down the chimney ! ’ ' Only 

me,’ says I; 'and I’ve caught you nap- 
ping this time 1 ’ She helped me out, and 
when I had caught my breath, I climbed 
out the window ; but, deary me, I shouldn’t 
wonder if that very woman went to sleep 
again, and thought it was all a dream ! 
Ileigh-ho ! that’s the way they always treat 
poor Santa Claus nowadays.” 

(Here the children laughed, and Sns) 


30 


SISTER SUSY. 


said, "I guess he must have bumped his 
nose against that chimney : see what a 
hump ! ”) 

" O, O, don’t you make sport of me, 
children ! My nose is big, to be sure, 
but I’m going to keep it and make the 
best of it ! If you loved Santa as he loves 
you, you wouldn’t mind the looks. I ivas 
going to change my coat and dickey ; but 
then, thinks I, I’ll come just as I am ! I 
patted myself on the shoulder, and says I, 
' Santa Claus, don’t you fret if you are 
grow ill’ old ! You may look a little dried 
up, but your h'^art isn’t wrinkled ; O no ! ’ 
You see father Adam and me was very near 
of an age, but somehow I never growed 
up ! I always thought big folks did very 
well in their place ; but for my part, give 
me the children. Hurrah for the children ! ” 

(Great clapping and laughing.) 



Susy’s Christmas. -- P age 26. 






SUSY’S CHRISTMAS 


"I tell you, darlings, I haven’t forgot 
a single one of you. My pockets are run- 
ning over. I’ve l)cen preparing presents 
for you ever since last fall, when the birds 
broke up housekeeping. 

"Here’s a tippet for the Prudy girl, 
and she may have it for nothing ; and they 
are cheaper ’n that, if you take ’em by 
the quantity. 

" I’m a walkin’ book-case. Why, I’ve 
brought stories and histories enough to 
set up a store ! I’ve got more nuts than 
you can shake a hammer at ; but I think 

there’s more bark to ’em than there is 

% 

bite. O, O, I find I can’t crack ’em with 
my teeth, as I used to a hundred years 
ago ! 

" But my dear, sweet, cunning little 
hearers, I must be a-goin’. Queen Vic- 
toria, said she to me, said she, ' Now, 


9 


32 


SISTER SUSY. 


Santa, my love, do you hurry hack to fill 
my children’s stockings before the clock 
strikes twelve.’ Queen Vic is an excellent 
woman, and is left a poor widow ; so I 
can’t disappoint her, poor soul ! 

"I must be a-goin’ ! Would like to 
hug and kiss you all round, but can’t stop. 
(KisSes his hand and bows.) A Merry 
Christmas to you 'all, and a Happy New 
Year.” 

So saying, Santa Claus suddenly disap- 
peared at the hall door, dropping his heavy 
pack upon the table. 

In another minute the lively old gentle- 
man was in the front parlor without any 
mask, and of course it was nobod}'" but 
cousin Persy, "with his face off.” 

Then they all fell to work sorting oin 
presents. Prud}’^ seized her fur tippet, and 
put it on at once. 


SUSY’S GIIKISTMAS. 


33 


’’O, how pretty I look,” said she; "just 
like a little cat! Ain't I cumiing?” 

But nobody could pause to attend to 
Priidj, though she chatted very fast, witli> 
out commas or periods, and held up to 
view a large wax doll which "would be 
alive if it could talk.” They all had gifts 
as well as Prudy, and wished to talk rather 
than to listen. They asked questions with- 
out waiting for answers, and did not mind 
interrupting one another, and talking all 
at once, like a party of school children. 

All this was hardly polite, it is true ; 
but people are sometimes surprised out 
of tlieir good manners on Christmas even- 
ings, and must l)e forgiven for it, as such 
a good time happens but once a year. 

Percy broke in with an old song, and 
went through with a whole' stanza of it, 
although no one listened to a word : — - 


34 


SISTER SUSY. 


“ Good luck unto old Christmas, 

And long life let us sing, 

For he doeth more good unto the poor 
Than many a crowned king.” 

” My beautiful books ! ” cried aunt Madge ; 
Mtussia morocco.” 

" My writing-desk, — has any one looked 
at it?” said Mrs. Parlin ; "rosewood, in- 
laid with brass.” 

" ]\Iy skates ! ” broke in Susy, at the top 
of her voice. 

" Hush ! ” screamed cousin Percy ; — 
"won’t anybody please notice my drum? 
If you won’t look, then look out for a 
drum ill each car ! ” 

And, as nobody would look or pay the 
sliglitost attention, they all had to hear 
" Dixie ” pounded out in true martial 
style, till the}" held on to their ears. 

" Rattlety bang ! ” went the drum. 


SUSY’S CHKISTMAS. 


35 


'’Tweet, tweet,’* whistled the little mu- 
sical instrimieiits which the children were 
blowing. 

" Have pity on us ! ” cried aunt Madge ; 
" I am bewildered ; my head is floating 
like a Chinese garden.” 

" Order ! ” shouted Mr. Parlin, laughing. 

"O, yes, sir,” said Percy, seizing Susy 
and whirling her round. "Children, why 
don’t you try to preserve order? My 
nerves are strung up like violin-strings ! 
I’ve got a pound of headache to every 
ounce of brains. Susy Parlin, do try to 
keep still ! ” 

"Thee needn’t pretend it is all Susan,” 
said grandma Head, smiling. " Thee and 
little Prudence arc the noisiest of the 
whole ! ” 

In fact, they raised such a din, that after 
a while poor grandma i\ead smoothed the 


SISTER SUSY. 


’56 

(^uukcr cap over her smiling face, and stole 
oir intti ncr own chamber, where she could 
"settle down into quietness.” Much noise 
always confused grandma Head. 

But in a very few moments, when the 
excitement began to die out, there was a 
season of overwhelming gratitude. Every- 
body had to thank everybod}' else ; and Mr. 
Pari in, who had a beautiful dressing-gown 
to be gratefid for, nevertheless found time 
to tell Susy, over and over again, how dc- 
lighted he was with her book-mark, made, 
by her own fingers, of three wide strips of 
velvet ribbon ; on the ends of which were 
fastened a cross, a star, and an anchor, of 
card -board. 

"Papa, one ribbon is to keep your place 
in the Old Testament,” said Susy ; " one is 
to stay in the middle, at the births and mar- 
riages ; and the other one is for onr chapter 
in the New Testament, you know,” 


SUSY’S CIIULSTMAS. 


37 


" I think my lamp-mat is very pretty,” 
said aunt Madge, kissing Susy ; " every bit 
as pretty as if Prudy hadn’t 'been and 
told.’” 

Prudy had bought a shawl-pin for ^ her 
mother, a fieree little wooden soldier for 
aunt Madge, and something for everybody 
else but Sus}'. Not that she forgot Susy. 
(), no ! but one’s money does not always 
hold out, even at Christmas time. 

” AVdiy,” said ]\Ir. Parlin, " what is this 
sticking fast to the sole of my new slipper? 
Molasses candy, I do believe.” 

"Yes sir; that’s for Susy,” cried Prudy, 
suddenly remembering hoAV she had tucked 
it in at the last moment, when she could not 
stop to find any wrapping-paper. " It isn’t 
so big as it was, but it’s the biggest piece 
I had in this world. I saved it last night. 
Susy likes ’lasses candy, and I couldn’t think 
‘:'f nothin’ else*” 


38 


SISTER SUSY. 


It was a wonder that Priidy’s candy had 
not spoiled some of the nice presents. 

Susy received several pretty things ; and 
though she did not talk (piite so much as 
Prndy, she was just as happy. For one 
thing, she had Avhat she had not dreamed 
was possible for a little girl — a bottle of 
olt) of rose; "just like a young lady.” 

This was a real delight to Susy ; but 
Prudy, sniffing at it, said, coolly, "O, ho! 
it smells ’s if it didn’t eost more’n a cent ! 
’Tisn’t half so sweet as pepmint 1 ” 

Before Dotty could be put to bed, she 
had contrived to break several toys, all of 
which happened to be Susy’s — a sugar 
temple, a glass pitcher, and a sn 11 vase. 

This was an evening long to be remera* 
bered ; but the most remarkal I j event of 
all was to come. 

"Susy, my daughter,” said Mr. Parlin, 


SUSY’S CHRISTMAS. 


31 ) 


have you been wondering why you don’t 
see a present from me ? ” 

Susy blushed. She liad certainly ex- 
pected something' handsome this year from 
her father. 

" I haven’t forgotten you, my dear ; but 
the present I have chosen wouldn’t sit very 
well on the shoulders of such a little fellow 
as Santa Claus.” 

Percy laughed. " Wouldn’t it have been 
a load, uncle?” 

" Hush ! ” whispered aunt jMadge ; ” she 
isn’t to know till morning.” 

"But, papa,” said Susy, her eyes shining 
with excitement, " why couldn’t you bring 
it in here now?” 

"It is better off out of doors. Indeed, 
to tell the truth, my child, it is hardly suit- 
able for the parlor.” 

" Xow, Miss Susy,” said Percy, measuring 


40 


SISTER SUSY. 


off his Avorcls on the tips of liis fingers, " Fin 
authorized to tell you it’s something you 
mustn’t take in your lap, mustn’t hang on a 
nail ; if you do, you’ll lose it. Fm sure 
’twill please you, Susy, because it’s a mute, 
and can’t speak. You ” 

" O, hush talking about dumb people ! I 
shouldn’t think you’d make sport of F reddy 
Jackson ! If you was a little deaf-and- 
dumber than you are now, I’d like you 
better ! 

”0, dear, dear!” cried she, djincing about 
the room ; " wliat can it be ? I can’t wait I ” 

" Only think ; all night before I’ll know,” 
thought she, as she touched her pillow. "O, 
Frudy, to-morrow morning ! Only think of 
to-morrow morning ! All my other presents 
are just nothing at all. Anything is so 
much nicer when you don’t know what it 


r 


busy’s WINGS. 


41 


CHAPTER IV. 

SUSY’S WINGS. 

Susy awoke next morning ver} mncli 
surprised to find the sun so high, t’rudy 
was lying beside her, talking to hciself. 

” I don’t feel very well,” said the child ; 
" but I’m pleasant ; I mean to be g od all 
day.” 

"Why didn’t you speak to me? ' cried 
Susy, springing out of bed, " wh«n you 
knew how I couldn’t wait to see my 
present ? ” 

"I would have woke you up, Susy, but 
I ain’t well ; I’m sick in my knee.” 

And Prudy limped about the room to 


42 


SISTER SUSY. 


show her sister how lame she was. But 
Susy was in too great a hurry to pay much 
atteutioii to her, or to help her dress. 

" Good moruing, papa I ” she exelaiiued, 
the monieut she entered the parlor ; " now 
may I see the present ? ” 

" Do you suppose you could wait till after 
breakfast, Susy ? ” 

Aunt Madge smiled as she looked at the 
little eager face. 

"I see you are going on with your les- 
sons,” said she. 

"What lessons, auntie? Why, it is the 
holidays ! ” 

"Lessons in patience, my dear. Isn’t 
something always happening wnich you have 
to be patient about ? ” 

Susy thought of Prudy’s habit of dis- 
closing secrets, Dotty’s trying way of de- 
Btroying playthings; and now this long 


SUSY’S WINGS. 


43 


delay about her present. She began to 
think there were a great many vexations in 
the world, and that she bore them remark- 
ably well for such a little girl. 

"Yes, thee must let patience have her 
perfect work, Susan ” said grandma Reed, 
after the " silent blessing ” had been asked 
at the table. 

"Mayn’t I go, too?” said Prudy, when 
she saw her fother, her auntie, and Susy 
leaving the house just .after In-eakfast. 

And she went, .as a matter of course; 
but the pavements were a little slippery from 
sleet ; .Aid Prudy, who was never a famous 
walker, had .as much as she could do, even 
with the help of her father’s hand, to keep 
from falling. 

"Ydiy, Prudy,” said IMr. Parlin, "what 
ails you this morning? You limp so much 
that I believe you need crutches.” 


SISTER SUSY. 


4 > 

' 7 T ,' 1 ^ 3 ^ iu my knee,” replied Prudy, 
delight 3d to see that her lameness was ob- 
served. you bad my knee, and it hurt, 
you’d kno^\ how it feels 1 ” 

By this time they had reached a livery 
stable ; and, to Susy’s surprise, her father 
stopped short, and said to a man who stood 
by the door, ''Mr. Hill, my daughter has 
come to look at her pony.” 

Prudy Avas in a great fright at sight of so 
many horsers, and needed all her auntie’s 
attention ; but Susy had no fear, and Mr. 
Parlin led her along to a stall where stood 
a beautiful black pony, as gentle-looking 
as a NeAvfoundlaBd dog. 

"How do you like him, Susy? Strol^o 
his face, and talk to him.” 

" But, O, papa, yon don’t mean, you 
can’t mean, he’s my very own ! A Avholr 
pony all to myself!” 


susy’s wings. 


45 


''See whut you think of his saddle, miss,” 
said ]\Ir, Hill, laughing at Susy’s eagerness ; 
and he led pony out, and threw over his 
back a handsome side-saddle. 

"Why, it seems as if I could just jump 
on without anybody touching me,” cried 
Susy. 

" Not afraid a bit? ” said Mr. Hill, as Mr. 
Parlin seated Susy in the saddle, and gave 
her the reins. " Ponies throw people, some- 
times.” 

"O, but my papa would never give mo 
a l)ad pony,” answered Susy, with perfect 
conlidence . 

Mr. Hill laughed again. He was a rough 
man ; but he thought a child’s faith in a 
parent was a beautiful thing. 

He did not know man}' passages of Scrip- 
ture, but thought he had read somewhere, 
"And if he ask bread, will he give him a 


4G 


SISTER SUSY. 


stone : ' No ; fathers are glad to give their 
"best giils/' and the little ones trust them. 

"It's like sailing in a boat,” cried Susy, 
riding back and forth about the yard in 
great excitement ; " why, it’s just as easy as 
the swing in the oilnut-tree at grandma 
Parlin’s ! O, papa, to think I should forget 
to thank you ! ” 

But perhaps i\Ir. Parlin regarded glowing 
checks and shining eyes as the very best 
of thanks. 

Prudy thought the pony a beautiful " baby 
horse ; ” wanted to ride, and didn’t want to ; 
was afraid, and wasn’t afraid, and, as her 
father said, had as many minds as some 
politicians who arc said to ' stand on the 
fence.’ ” By and by, after some coaxing, 
the timid little thing consented to sit be- 
hind Susy, and cling round her waist, if 
her hither would walk beside her to make 


SUSY'S WINGS. 


47 


sure she didn’t fall olF. In this way they 
went home. 

" I like to sit so I can hug my sister, while 
she drives the horse,” said Prudy ; ” besides, 
it hurts me to walk.” 

]\Ir. Parlin and aunt Madge smiled at the 
child’s speeches, but gave no more heed to 
tliis lameness of which she complained, than 
tliey did to any of the rest of her little 
freaks. 

Prudy liked to be pitied for every small 
hurt ; and when Susy had a sore throat, 
and wore a compress, she looked upon her 
will) envy, and felt it almost as a personal 
slight that her throat could not be wrapped 
in a compress too. 

On their wa}^ they met "lame Jessie,” a 
little girl with crooked spine and veiy high 
shi)uldcrs, Avdio hobbled along on crutches. 

"She’s lamer than me,” said Prudy. 
'Oood morning, Jessie.” 


48 


SISTER SUS\. 


'' I know what I’ve thought of,” said Susy, 
who could talk of nothiug which was not 
in some way connected with her pony. 
"I’m going to give that girl some rides 
How happy she will be, poor little Jessie I ” 

"When you get your sleigh,” said Mr. 
Parlin. 

"My sleigh, papa? How many more 
presents are coming?” 

"It is hard to tell, Susy; one gift makes 
way for another, you see. First comes tlie 
pony ; but how can he live without a stable, 
and a groom to feed him ? Then what is a 
pony worth without a saddle? And, as one 
does not wish always to ride pony-back, a 
sleigh is the next thing.” 

"But, papa, you know in uie summer!’ 

" Yes, my dear, in the summer, if Ave ali 
live, there must be a light carriage made ou 
purpose for you.” 


SUSY’S WINGS. 


4f* 

"There is one thing more that poir 
needs,” said aunt Madge, stroking his eye- 
brows, "and that is, a name.” 

"O, I never thought of that,” said Susy 
"help me find a name, auntie.” 

" Let me think. I should call him some- 
thing good and pleasant. Think of some- 
thing y'ou like very much.” 

" O, Frosted Cake,” cried Prudy : " wouldn’t 
that be pleasant? Susy loves that.” 

" I should like to name him for the AmerP 
can Eagle,” said Susy, who had heard some 
patriotic speeches from her cousin Percy ; 
" only you couldn’t pet that name, could 
you?” 

" You might call him Don Carlos, or Don 
Pedro,” suggested Mr. Parlin. 

"Xo, papa; only think of Donny : that )s 
like Donkey ! You haven’t any long ears, 
have you, pony ? If you had, Pd call you 


50 


SISTER SUSY. 


Little Pitcher, for ' little pitchers have great 
ears.’ That makes me think of iMr. Allen, 
auntie. How big his ears are, you know ! 
Is it because his teacher pulled them so? ” 

" O, call him ' Gustus,’ ” cried Prudy. 

" But that would soon bo Gusty,” said 
aunt Madge, " and would sound too much 
like the east wind.” 

"Deary me,” sighed Susy; " who’d ever 
think it was such hard work to find names?” 

" O, look,” said Prudy, as they passed a 
jaded old horse; "there is a pony just ex- 
actly like this ! Only it’s twice as big, you 
know, and not a hit such a color ! ” 

" Well, there, Prudy,” said Susy, disdain- 
fully, " I thought, -when you began to speak, 
you was going to tell something ! Why 
don’t you wait till you have something to 
say? Please give me a list of names, papa.” 

"There’s Speedwell, Lightfoot, Zephyr, 
1 Vi nee, Will-o’-th'^-wisp ” 


susy’s wings. 


51 


" I might call him Wispy,” broke in 
Susy. " Zephyr is good, only it makes you 
think of worsteds.” 

"Now, listen,” said aunt Madge; "you 
might call him Elephant, just for sport, be- 
cause he is in reality so very little. Or, on 
the other hand, you might find the least 
siicgk of a name, like Firefly, or Midge.” 

" I don’t like any of those,” replied Susy, 
still disatisfied. 

' "I see,” said aunt Madge, laughing, 
" nothing will please you but a great name. 
What say to Pegasus, a flying horse, which 
poets are said to ride ? It might be shorts 
ened to Peggy.” 

"Now, auntie, you wouldn’t have this 
beautiful pony called Peggy ; you know you 
wouldn’t ! the one my father bought on pur- 
pose for me ! But was there such a horse, 
truly?” 


52 


SISTER SUSY. 


" O, no ; there is an old fable, which, as 
we say, is ' as true now as it ever was,’ of a 
glorious creature with wings, iiiid whoever 
mounts him gets a flying ride into the 
clouds. But the trouble is to catch him ! ” 
" O, I wish my pony could fly,” said Susy, 
gazing dreamily at his black mane and sleek 
sides. "The first place I’d go to would be 
the moon ; and there I’d stay till I built a 
castle as big as* a city. I’d come home every 
night, so mother wouldn’t be frightened, 

and fly up in the morning, and — and ” 

" See here,” said Prudy, who had for 
some time been trying to speak; "call him 
Wings I ” 

"So I will,” answered Susy, quickly, "and 
I’ll make believe he flies in the air like 
a bird. Now, auntie, what do you think of 
Winers?” . 

o 


"Odd enough, I’m sure, my dear.” 


SUSY’s WINGSc 


53 


'' Well, I like it,” returned Susy, with a 
positive shake of the head. " It’s of no use 
to keep • fussing so long over a name, and I 
feel a great deal easier, now I’ve made up 
my mind ! Dear little Wings, you prick up 
your ears, and I know you like it, too. I 
wish you had a soul, so you could be taken 
to church, and christened like a baby.” 

Just here Susy was startled by a sudden 
laugh from cousin Percy, who hiKl for some 
moments been walking behind the pony un- 
observed. 

You’re enough to frighten any one to 
death,” she screamed, " creeping about like 
a cat.” 

Susy had a foolish dread of being laughed 

ftt. 

"Creeping like a cat,” echoed Percy, "while 
you creep like a snail ! What will you take 
for your pony, that can lly in the air like a 


54 


SISTER SUSY. 


l)irtl, l)ut can’t walk on the ground any 
better than a goose ? ” 

" I don’t know what you’re talking about,” 
said Susy, quite excited : " if you want to 
Bee anybody ride fast, just look here.” And 
she started the pony at full speed, regard- 
less of Prudy, who was so frightened, that 
she seized poor "Wings 1)y his flowing inane, 
and called out for her sister to stop. But 
Susy dashed on at a flying pace, and Percy 
cried after her, " O, Susy, cousin Susy, 
what think of your Christinas present? 
Will you remember not to cat it, and not 
to hang it on a nail? Susy, Susy?” 

There was hardly a happier child living 
than Susy, during those delightful holidays. 
Sho f^aid to herself, sometimes, that this was 
such a beautiful world, she couldn’t think 
of a single thing that wasn’t as splendid as 
it could be 


niUDY’S TllOUBLE. 


55 


CHAPTER V. 

riiUDY’S TllOUBLE. 

The lKii)py days flow 1)}'. The Old Year 
was worn out, and the New Year stei)ped in 
fresh and j^outliful. Susy found her little 
sleigh a very comfortable affair ; and so, I 
think, did "lame Jessie.” When her father 
found that Susy had really chosen for her 
l)ony the name of Wings, he ordered a 
beautiful picture of the Flying Horse to be 
painted on the dashboard of the sleigh. 

Susy was delighted with this, and her 
vivid fancy took wings at once, and flew 
away to the other end of the world, where 
her aunt IMadge told her the fountain of 
Pirene was said to gush out of a hill-side. 


56 


SISTER SUSY. 


" Only think,” said she to Flossy ; " it waa 
a >voman once, that fountain was ; but she 
poured her life all out into tears, crying be^ 
cause her son was killed. So the fountain 
is made of tears ! ” 

" Bitter and salt, then,” said Florence, 
threading her needle. 

" No, indeed ; just as sweet and nice as 
any water. Pegasus loved it ; and there Avas 
a beautiful young man, his name Avas Bel — 
Bel — Avell, I declare. I’ve foi^otten, — no, 
’tAvas Bellerophoii ; and he had a bridle, and 
Avanted a horse. O, do you knoAv this horse 
Avas Avhite, Avith silvery Avings, Avild as a 
haAvk ; and, once in a Avhile, he Avould fold 
up his Avings, and trot round on the moun- 
tain ! ” 

Florence yaAAiied, and waxed her thread. 

" O, it Avas a splendid bridh , this man 
had, made of gold ; and I forgot — the moun- 


PKUDY’S TIfOUCLE. 


57 


tain the horse trotted round on was called 
Helicon. And the man mounted him, and 
went lip, np, till they were nothing but 
specks in the sky.” 

"A likely story,” said Florence; "there, 
you’ve told enough ! I don’t want to hear 
any more such nonsense.” 

" Well, if you don’t ivant to hear about 
the monster they killed, you needn’t ; that’s 
all I can say ; but the young man loved that 
horse ; and he kissed him, too, he was so 
splendid ! ” 

" Kiss a horse ! ” Flossy looked very 
much disgusted. 

" Why, I’ve kissed my pony a great many 
times,” said Susy, bravely, " right between 
his eyes ; and he almost kisses me. He 
wants to say, ' I love you.’ I can see it in 
bis eyes.” 

By this time Flossy had finished her doll’s 


58 


SISTER SUSY. 


garment, and, putting it on the little thing’s 
shoulders, held up the doll to be admired. 

"I think her opera cloak is very ' i)ewiteh-= 
ing,’ don’t you, Susy? It is trimmed with 
ermine, because she is a (pieen, and is going 
to the opera.” 

"It looks well enough,” said Susy, indif- 
ferently, "but it isn’t ermine ; it’s only white 
cat’s fur, with black spots sewed on.” 

" Of course it isn’t real ermine ! ” replied 
Florence ; " but I play that it is, and it’s just 
as well.” 

" But you know all the while it’s a make- 
believe. She hasn’t any more sense than a 
stick of wood, either ; and I don’t sec any 
sport ill playing with dolls.” 

" And I don’t see any sense i]i fairy 
stories,” retorted Flossy. "Do you know 
what Percy says about you ? He says your 
head is as full of airy notions as a dandelion 


pkudy’s trouble. 


59 


top. I love Queen Mab as if she was my 
o>\ii sister,” continued Flossy, in a pettish 
tone. "You know I do, Susy. I alwaj^s 
thought, if anything should happen to Queen 
Alab, and I lost her, I should certainly dress 
in mourning : now you needn’t laugh.” 

"0,1 can’t help laughing, when anybody ’ 
makes such a fuss over a doll,” replied Susy, 
with a curl of the lip. " Anything that 
isn’t alive, and hasn’t any sense, and don’t 
care for you ! I like canary birds, and 
babies, and ponies, and that’s enough to 
like.” 

" Well, now, that’s so funny ! ” said Flor- 
ence, twitching the folds of Queen Mab’s 
dress into place ; " for the very reason 1 
like my doll, is because she isn't alive.' 1 
wouldn’t have been you, Susy Parlin, when 
you had your las^ canary bird, and let him 
choke to death 


60 


SISTER SUSY. 


” 0 , no, Flossy, I didn’t let him choke : 1 
forgot to put any seed in the bottle, and lie 
stuck his head in so deep, that he smothered 
to death.” 

” I don’t know but smothering is as bad 
as choking,” said Florence ; ” and now your 
new bird will be sure to come to some bad 
end.” 

"You’re always saying hateful things,” 
exclaimed Susy, a good deal vexed. " I like 
Grace Clifford ten times as well, for she’s 
a great deal more lady-like.” 

"Well, I suppose I can go home,” said 
Florence, with a rising color : "you’re such 
a perfect lady that I can’t get along with 
you.” 

" O, dear,” thought poor Susy, "what 
does ail my tongue ? Here this very morn- 
ing I said in 1113’^ prayer, that I meant to be 
good and patient.” 


pkudy’s trouble. 


6] 


Florence began to put on her cloak. 

"Cousin Flossy,” said Susy, in a hesi- 
tating voice, "I wish you wouldn’t go. 1 
didn’t mean to tell that I liked Gracie best ; 
but it’s the real honest truth, and if I should 
take it back, ’twould be a die.” 

This was not making matters much better. 
Florence put on her hood, and tied it with 
a twitch. 

" But I like you ever so much. Flossy ; 
now, you know I do. You’re hateful some- 
times ; but so am I ; and I can’t tell which is 
the hatefulest.’’ 

Here Flossy, who was as fickle as the 
wind, laughed merrily, took off her hood 
and cloak, and danced about the room in 
liigh spirits. 

"Yes,” said she, ’’Fll stay just on purpose 
to plague you ! ” 

But good humor had been restored or 


62 


SISTER SUSY. 


both sides, and the little girls were soon 
talking together, as freely as if nothing had 
happened. 

"Just come out in the kitchen,” said Susy, 
"and you shall see me wash my bird.” 

"Why, I thought birds washed them- 
selves,” replied Florence, following her 
cousin with some surprise. 

"They do, but Dandy won’t; it’s all in 
the world 1 have against Dandy ; he isn’t a 
cold-water bird.” 

Grandma Read stood by the kitchen table, 
clear-starching one of her caps — a piece of 
work which she always performed with her 
own hands . She moved one side to make 
room for Susy’s 'bird-cage, but said she did 
not approve of washing canaries ; she thought 
it must be a dangerous experiment. 

"If he needed a bath, he would take it 
himself, Susan. Little birds know what is 


puudy’s trouble. 


63 


best for them by instiiict, thee may depend 
upon it.” 

” But my birdie gay ought to be clean,” 
persisted Susy, who was often very positive. 
”Mrs. Mason says so — the lady that gave 
him to me. I told her he wouldn’t bathe, 
and she said then I must bathe him.” 

Susy went to the range, and, dipping 
some hot water from the boiler, cooled it 
with fresh water, till she found, by putting 
in her fingers, that it was of a proper tem- 
perature, according to her own judgment. 
Then she plunged the timid little canary into 
the bowl, in spite of his fluttering. Such a 
wee young thing as he was too ! He seemed 
to be afraid of the water, and struggled 
against it with all his small strength. 

"O, Dandy, darling,” said Susy, in a 
cooing voice, as if she were talking to a 
baby ; "be a little man. Dandy ; hold up his 


SISTER SUSY. 


U 

head, and let Susy wash it all cleany ! O, 
lie's Susie’s birdie gay ! — AVhat makes him 
roll up his eyes?” 

*■ Take him out quick, Susan,” said grand 
ma Reed ; ” he will strangle.” 

A few seconds more and all would have 
been over with birdie gay. He curled down 
very languidly on the floor of the cage, and 
seemed to wish to be let alone. 

"He acts so every morning when I bathe 
him,” said Susy, who would not give up the 
point ; " but Mrs. Mason told me to do it ! 
Dotty always cried when she was washed, 
till she was ever so old.” 

" I think,” said Mrs. Parlin, who had just 
entered the kitchen, "I must ask Mrs. Mason 
if she is very sure it is proper to treat little 
birds in that way.” 

"But look, mamma; here he is, shaking 
out his feathers, all bright and hap})y again. 


prudy’s trouble. 


6t 

O, you cunning little Dandy, now we’ll 
bang you up in the sun to dry. See him 
hop on one foot; that is just to make me 
laugh.” 

" But I hop on one foot, too,” said little 
Prudy, "and you don’t laugh at me.” 

"This is a droll little head for fancies,” 
said Mrs. Parlin, patting Prudy’s curls, and 
looking at grandma Reed. " Do you know, 
mother, that for several days she has made 
believe she was lame Jessie, and has hobbled 
about whenever she could think of it.” 

"Now you mustn’t laugh,” said Prudy, 
looking up with a grieved face ; I can’t 
never help hopping ; I have to hop. My 
knee was so sick, I cried last night, and 
I was just as wide-atvakeful J ” 

"Aint thee afraid the child has been hurt 
in some way, my daughter? ” said grandma 
Read. 


66 


SISTER SUSY. 


" O, no, mother,” said Mrs. Purlin, smiling, 
as Priidy limped out of the room. "I have 
examined her knee, and there is nothing the 
matter with it. She is only imitating that 
lame child. You know Prudy has all sorts 
of whims. Don’t you know how she has 
wanted us to call her Jessie sometimes ? ” 

" Why, no, indeed, grandma, she isn’t 
lame,” said Susy, laughing. "Sometimes she 
will run about the room as well as I do, 
and then, in a few minutes, when she thinks 
of it, she will limp and take hold of chairs. 
jNIother, isn’t it just the same as a Avrong 
story for Prudy to act that Avay? If I 
did so, you’d punish me ; now, Avouldn’t 
you?” 

" I don’t know Avhat to think about it,” 
said Mrs. Purlin, gravely. "Sometimes I 
am afraid Prudy is really becoming naughty 
aiiu deceitful. 1 thought once it Avas only 


pkudy’s trouble. 


67 


her funny way of playing ; but she is getting 
old enough now to know the difference be- 
tween truth and falsehood.” 

There was an anxious look on Mrs. Par-, 
lin’s face. She was a faithful mother, and 
watched her children’s conduct with the 
tenderest care. 

But this lameness of which little Prudy 
complained, was something more than play ; 
it was a sad truth, as the family learned 
very soon. Instead of Avalkiug properly 
when her mother bade her do so, the 
poor child cried bitterly, said it hurt her, 
and she was so tired she wished they would 
let her lie on the sofa, and never get up. 
At times she seemed better ; and when every- 
body thought she was quite well, suddenly 
the pain and weakness would come again, 
and she could only limp, or walk by catch- 
ing hold of chairs. 


n8 


SISTER SUSY. 


At last her father called in a physician. 

"How long has this child been lame?” 
said he. 

" A month or more.” 

The doctor looked grave. "Has she ever 
had an injury, ]Mr. Parlin, such as slipping 
on the ice, or falling down stairs?” 

"No, sir,” replied Mr. Parlin, "I believe 
not.” 

"Not a serious injury that I know of,” 
said ]Mrs. Parlin, passing her hand across her 
forehead, and trying to remember. "No, I 
think Prudy has never had a had fall, though 
she is always meeting with slight accidents.” 

"O, mamma,” said Susy, who had begged 
to stay in the room, "she did have a fall: 
don’t you know, Christmas day, ever so long 
ago, how she went rolling down stairs Avith 
her little chair in her arms, and Avoke every- 
body up?” 

The doctor caught at Susy’s Avords. 


peuuy’s trouble. 




"AVith her little chair in her arms, my 
dear? And did she cry as if she was hurt?” 

"Yes, sir; she said the j>rongs of the 
chair stuck into her side.” 

"It hurt me dreffully,” said Prudy, who 
had until now forgotten all about it. "busy 
spoke so quick, and said I was a little snail ; 
and then I rolled over and over, and down I 
went.” 

The doctor almost smiled at these words, 
lisped out ill such a plaintive voice, as if 
Prudy could not think of that fall even now, 
without pitying herself very much. 

"Just let me see you stand up, little 
daughter,” said he ; for Prudy was lying on 
the sofa. 

But it hurt her to bear her weight on her 
feet. 

She said, "One foot, the ^lame-hnee-foot,' 
came down so long, it more than touched the 


floor. 


70 


SISTER SUSY. 


The doctor looked sober. The foot did 
drag indeed. The trouble was not in her 
knee, but in her hip, which had really been 
injured when she fell down stairs, and the 
" iDi’Ougs ” of the chair were forced against it. 

It seemed to Mrs. Parlin strange that 
Prudy had never complained of any pain in 
her side ; but the doctor said it was very 
common for people to suffer from hip-disease, 
and seem to have only a lame knee. 

" Hip-disease ! ” When Mrs. Parlin heard 
these words, she grew so dizzy, that it was 
all she could do to keep from fainting. It 
came over her in a moment, the thought of 
v/hat her little daughter would have to suffer 
— days and nights of pain, and perhaps a 
whole lifetime of lameness. She had often 
heard of hip-disease, and was aware that it 
is a very serious thing. 

Do you know, she would gladly have 


prudy’s trouble. 


71 


changed places with Prudy, would gladly 
have borne all the child must sufler, if by 
that means she could have saved her? This 
is the feeling which mothers have when any 
trouble comes upon their children ; but the 
little ones, with their simple minds, cannot 
understand it. 


72 


SISTER SUSY. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ROSY FRANCES EASTIVIAN MARY. 

Prudy had enjoyed a great many rides in 
Susy’s beautiful sleigh ; but now the doctor 
forbade her going out, except for very short 
distances, and even then, he said, she must 
sit in her mother’s lap. He wanted her to 
lie down nearly all the time, and keep very 
quiet. 

At first, ]\Irs. Parlin wondered how it 
would be possible to keep such a restless 
child quiet ; but she found, as time pjissed, 
and the disease made progress, that poor 
little Prudy was only too glad to lie still. 
Every motion seemed to hurt her, and some* 


ROSY FRANCES EASTMAN MARY. 


73 


times she cried if any one even jarred the 
sofa suddenly. 

These were dark days for everybody in 
the house. Susy, who was thoughtful be- 
yond her years, suffered terribly from anx- 
iety about her little sister. More than that, 
she suffered from remorse. 

”0, grandma Eead,” said she one evening, 
as she sat looking up at the solemn, shining 
stars, with overflowing eyes — "O, grand- 
ma ! ” The words came from the depths of 
a troubled heart. " I may live to be real 
old ; but I never shall be happy again ! I 
can’t, for, If it hadn’t been for me, Prudy 
would be running round the house as well as 
ever ! ” 

i\lrs. Read had a gentle, soothing voice. 
She could comfort Susy when anybody could. 
Now she tried to set her heart at rest hy 
Baying that the doctor gave a great deal of 


74 


SISTER SUSY. 


hope. He could not promise a certain ciire^ 
but he felt great faith in a new kind of 
splint which he was using for Prudy’s hip. 

" O, grandma, it may be, and then, again, 
it may not be,” sobbed poor Susy; "we 
can’t tell what God will think best ; but any 
how, it was I that did it.” 

"But, Susan, thee must think how inno- 
cent thee was of any wrong motive. Thee 
did not get angry, and push thy little sister, 
thee knows thee didn't, Susan ! Thee was 
only in a hurry, and rather thoughtless. 
The best of us often do very foolish things, 
and cause much mischief; but thee’ll find it 
isn’t best to grieve over these mistakes. 
Why, my dear little Susan, I have lived 
eight years to thy one, and if I should sit 
down now and drop a tear for every blunder 
I have made, I don’t know but I could al- 
most make a fountain of myself, like that 
woman thee tells about in the fairy story.” 


KOSY FRANCES EAST>LVN MARY. 


75 


"The fountain of Pirene that Pegasus 
loved,” said Susy ; "that was the name of it. 
Why, grandma, I never should have thought 
of your saying such a queer thing as that ! 
Wli}', it seems as if you always did just 
right, and thought it all over before you did 
it. Dc' you ever do wrong? How funny !” 

Mrs. Read smiled sadly. She was not an 
angel yet ; so I suppose she did wrong once 
in a while. 

" Now, grandma, I want to ask you one 
question, real sober and honest. You know 
it was so dark that morning in the middle 
of the night, when we were going down the 
back stairs ? Now, if I’d made a great deal 
worse mistake than calling Prudy a snail, — 
if I’d pushed her real hard, and she had 
fallen faster, — O, I can’t bear to think ! I 
mean, if the chair-prongs had hit her head, 
"■randma — and — killed her ! What would 

O 


SISTER SUSY. 


they have done to wie ? I thought about 
it last night, so 1 couldn’t go to sleep for 
the longest while ! I heard the clock strilce 
once while I was awake there in bed ! Would 
they have put me in the lock-up, grandma, 
and then hung me for murder ? ” 

"My dear child, no, indeed! How came 
such horrible ideas in thy tender little brain ? 
It is too dreadful to think about ; but, even 
if thy little sister had died, Susan, thee 
woidd have been no more to blame than 
thee is now, and a great, great deal more 
to be pitied.” 

Susy sat for a long while gazing out of 
the window ; but the stars did not wink so 
solemnly ; the moon looked friendly once 
more. Susy was drinking in her grand- 
mother’s w'ords of comfort. The look of 
sadness was disappearing from her young 
face, and smiles began to play about the 
corners of her mouth. 


ROSY FRANCES EASTMAN MARY. 


77 


^'Well,” said she, starting up briskly, 
I’m glad I wasn’t so very terribly wicked 1 
I wish I’d been somewhere else, Avhen I 
stood on those back-stairs, in the middle of 
the night ; but what’s the use ? I’m not 
going to think any more about it, grandma j 
for if I should think till my head was all 
twisted up in a knot, what good would it 
do ? It wouldn’t help Prudy any ; would it, 
grandma ? ” 

Xo, dear,” said the mild, soothing voice 
again ; " don’t think, I beg of thee ; but if 
thee wants to know what would do Prudence 
good, I will tell thee : try thy best to amuse 
her. She has to lie day after day and sutler. 
It is very hard for a little girl that loves to 
play, and ean’t read, and doesn’t know 
how to pass the time ; don’t thee think so, 
Susan ? ” 

It was certainly hard. Prudy’s round. 


78 


SISTER SUSY. 


rosy face began to grow pale ; and, instead 
of laughing and singing half the time, she 
would now lie and cry from pain, or iiecause 
she really did not know what else to do 
with herself. 

It Avas worst at night. Hour after hour, 
she would lie aAvake, and listen to the 
ticking of the clock. Susy thought it a 
pitiable case, when she heard the clock strike 
once; but little Prudy heard it strike again 
and again. IIoav strangely it pounded out 
the strokes in the night ! What a dreary 
sound it Avas, pealing through the silence ! 
The echoes ansAvered Avith a shudder. Then, 
when Prudy had counted one, tAvo, three, 
four, and the clock had no more to say at 
that time, it began to tick again : " Prudy’s 
sick ! Prudy’s sick ! O, dear me ! O, dear 
me !” 

Prudy could hardly believe it was the 


rr^ 



PRUDY AND SUSY SLEIGHING. — Pape 72. 





ROSY FR.VNCES EASTMAN MARY. 


79 


same clock she saw in the daytime. She 
wondered if it felt lonesome in the night, 
and had the blues ; or what could ail it I 
The poor little girl wanted somebody toj 
speak to in these long, long hours. She did 
not sleep with Susy, but in a new cot-bed 
of her own, in aunt Madge’s room : for, 
dearly as she loved to lie close to any one 
she loved, she begged now to sleep alone, 
" so nobody could hit her, or move her, or 
joggle her.” 

It was a ffreat comfort to have aunt Mad^je 
so near. If it had been Susy instead, Prudy 
would have had no company but the sound 
of her breathing. It was of no use to try 
to wake Susy in the dead of night. Prick- 
ing her wdth pins Avould startle her, but she 
never knew anything even after she was 
startled. All she could do was to stare 
about her, cry, and act very cross, and then 
— go to sleep again. 


80 


SISTER SUSY. 


But with aunt Madge it was quite differ- 
ent. She slept like a cat, with one eye 
open. Perhaps the reason she did not 
sleep more soundly, was, that she felt a 
care of little Prudy. No matter when Prudj 
spoke to her, aunt Madge always answered. 
She did not say, " O, dear, you’ve startled 
me out of a delicious nap ! ” She said, 
” Well, darling, what do you want?” Prudy 
generally wanted to know when it would 
be morning? When would the steamboat 
whistle ? MTiat made it stay dark so long ? 
She wanted a drink of water, and always 
wanted a story. 

If aunt Madge had forgotten to provide 
a glass of Avater, she put on her slippers, 
lighted the little handled lamp, and stole 
softly down stairs to the pail, Avhich Norah 
always pumped full of Avell-water the last 
thing in the evening. 


ROSY FRANCES EASTMAN MARY. 


81 


Or, if Priidy fancied it Avould console hot 
to have a peep at her beautiful doll 'which 
"’would be alive if it could speak,” 'vvhy, 
down stairs went auntie again to search out 
the spot where Susy had probably left it 
when "she took it to show to some chil- 
dren.” 

The many, many times that kind young 
lady crept shivering down stairs to humor 
Prudy's whims ! Prudy could not have 
counted the times ; and you may be sure 
aunt Madge never would. 

Then the stories, both sensible and silly^ 
'v\'hich Prudy teased for, and always got ! 
Aunt JNIadge poured them forth like vuiter 
into the sieve of Prudy’s mind, which could 
not hold stories any better than secrets. 
No matter how many she told, Prudy in- 
sisted that she vaulted "one more,” and the 
" same one over again.” 


82 


SISTER SUSY. 


It touched Susy to the heart to see ho^ 
much her little sister suffered, and she spent 
a great deal of time at first in trying to 
amuse her. Aunt Madge told stories in the 
night; but Susy told them in the daytime, 
till, as she expressed it, her ''tongue ached.” 
She cut out paper dolls when she wanted 
to read, and played go visiting, or dressed 
rag babies, when she longed to be out of 
doors. But while the novelty lasted, she 
was quite a Florence Nightingale. 

Her W ednesday and Saturday afternoons 
were no longer her own. Before Prudy’s 
lameness, Susy had used her new skates a 
great deal, and could now skim over the ice 
quite gracefully, for a little girl of her age. 
The reason she learned to skate so well, 
•vas because she was fearless. Most children 
tremble when they try to stand on the ice, 
and for that very reason are nearly sure to 


KOSY FKANCES EASTM.VN aiAjRY. 83 


fall ; but Susy did not tremble in the facw 
of danger : she had a strong will of her own. 
and never expected to fail in anything sh* 
undertook. 

She had spent half of her short life out 
of doors, and almost considered it lost time 
when she was obliged to stay in the house 
for the rain- 

Mrs. Parlin kept saying it was high time 
for her eldest daughter to begin to be wo- 
manly, and do long stints with her needle : 
she could not sew as well now as she sewed 
two years ago. 

But Mr. Parlin laughed at his wife’s anx- 
iety, and said he loved Susy’s red cheeks ; 
he didn’t care if she grew as brown as an 
Indian. She Avas never rude or coarse, he 
thought ; and she Avould be womanly enough 
one of these days, he was quite sure. 

” Anything,” said Mr. Parlin, " but these 


84 


SISTER SUSY. 


womanhj little girls, such as I have seen 
sitting in a row, sewing seams, without ani- 
mation enough to tear rents in their own 
dresses ! If Susy loves birds, and flowers, 
and snowbanks, I am thankfid, and perfectly 
Avilling she should have plenty of them for 
playthings.” 

Then, when Mrs. Parlin smiled mischiev- 
ously, and said, " I should like to know what 
sort of a wild Arab you would make out of 
a little girl,” Mr. Parlin answered triumph- 
antly,— 

" Look at my sister Margaret ! I brought 
her up my own self ! I always took her out 
in the woods with me, gunning and trouting. 
I taught her how to skate when she was a 
mere baby. I often said she was all the' 
brother I had in the world ! She can re« 
member now how I used to wrap her in 
shawls, and prop her up on the woodpile, 
while I chopped wood.” 


ROSY FR.VNCES EASTM.VN IMARY. 


85 


” And how you hired her to drop ears of 
corn for you into the corn-sheller ; and how, 
one day, her fingers were so benumbed, 
that one of them was clipped ofl’ before she 
knew it ! ” 

" Well, so it was, that is true ; but only 
the tip of it. Active children will meet 
with accidents. She was a regular little 
fly-away, and would sooner climb a tree 
or a ladder any time, than walk on solid 
ground. Noiv look at her ! ” 

And Mr. Parlin repeated words, 

" Now look at her,” as if he was sure his 
wife must confess that she was a remarkable 
person. 

Mrs. Parlin said, if Susy should ever 
become half as excellent and channing as 
Miss Margaret Parlin, she should be per- 
fectly satisfied, for her part. 

Thus Susy was allowed to romp to her 


86 


SISTER SUSY. 


heart’s content; "fairly ran wild,” as aunt 
Eastman declared, with a frown of disap- 
proval. She gathered wild roses, and wore 
them in her cheeks, the very best place in 
the world for roses. She drank in sunshine 
with the fresh air of heaven, just as tho 
flowers do, and thrived on it. 

But there was one objection to this out 
of-doors life : Susy did not love to stay ii 
the house. Kainy days and evenings, to bo 
sure, she made herself very happy with 
reading, for she loved to read, particularly 
fairy books, and Kollo’s Travels. 

But now, just as she had learned to skate 
on the basin with other little girls and young 
ladies, and could drive Wings anywhere and 
everywhere she pleased, it was a sore trial 
to give up these amusements for the sake 
of spending more hours with poor little 
Prudy. She was very self-denying at first, 


ROSY FRANCES EASTM.VN MARY. 


87 


but it grew to be an " old story.” She found 
it was not only pony and skates she must 
give up, but even her precious reading, for 
Prudy was jealous of books, and did not 
like to have Susy touch them. She thought 
Susy was lost to her when she opened a 
book, and might as well not bo in the house, 
for she never heard a word that anybody 
said. 

Now I know just what you will think : 
"O, I would have given up a great deal 
more than ponies and books for my dear 
little sister ! I would have told her stories, 
and never have complained that my ' tongue 
ached.’ It would not have wearied mo to 
do anything and eveiything for such a patient 
sufferer as little Prudy ! ” 

But now I shall be obliged to confess one 
thing, which I would have gladly concealed. 

Prudy was not always patient. Some 


88 


SISTER SUSY. 


sweet little children become almost like the 
angels when sickness is laid upon them ; but 
Prudy had been such a healthy, active child, 
that the change to perfect quiet was exceed- 
ingly tiresome. She was young, too, — too 
young to reason about the uses of suffering. 
She only knew she was dreadfully afflicted, 
and thought everybody ought to amuse 
her. 

"O, dear me!” said Susy, sometimes, "I 
just believe the more anybody does for 
Prudy, the more she expects.” 

Now this was really the case. When Prudy 
first began to lie upon the sofa, everybody 
pitied her, and tried to say and do funny 
things, in order to take up her attention. 
It was not possible to keep on giving so 
much time to her; but Prudy expected it. 
She would lie very pleasant and happy for 
hours at a time, counting the things in the 


ROSY FK.VNCES EASTALVN MARY. 89 


room, talking to herself, or humming little 
tunes ; and then, again, everything would 
go wrong. Her playthings would keep fall- 
ing to the floor, and, as she could not stoop 
at all, some one must come and pick them 
up that very minute, or they " didn’t pity 
her a bit.” 

Every once in a while, she declared her 
knee was ” broke in seven new places,” and 
the doctor must come and take off the splint. 
She didn’t want such a hard thing " right on 
there ; ” she wanted it " right 02“.” 

Her mother told her she must try to be 
patient, and be one of God’s little girls. 
"But, mamma,” said Prudy, "does God love 
me any? I should think, if he loved me, 
he’d be sorrier I was sick, and get me 
well.” 

Then, sometimes, when she had been more 
fretful than usual, she would close her eyes, 


90 


SISTER SUSY. 


and her mother would hear her say, in a 
low voice, — 

" O, God, I didn’t mean to. It’s my knee 
that’s cross ! ” 

Upon the whole, I think Prudy was as 
patient as most children of her age would 
have been under the same trial. Her father 
and mother, who had the most care of her, 
did not wonder in the least that her poor 
little nerves got tired out sometimes. 

While Susy was at school, Prudy had a 
long time to think what she wanted her to 
do when she should come home. She would 
lie and watch the clock, for she had learned 
to tell the time quite well; and when the 
hour drew near for Susy to come, she moved 
her head on the pillow, and twisted her 
fingers together nervously. 

If Susy was in good season, Prudy put 
up her little mouth for a kiss, and said, — ■ 


ROSY FRANCES EASTMAN MARY. 91 


”0, how I do love you, Susy! Ain’t I 
your dear little sister? Well, won’t you 
make me a lady on the slate ? ” 

Susy’s ladies had no necks, and their 
neads were driven down on their shoulders, 
as if they were going to be packed into 
their chests ; but, such as they were, Prudy 
wanted them over and over again. 

But if Susy stopped to slide, or to play 
by the way, she would find little Prudy in 
tears, and hear her say, O, what made 
you ? Naughty, naughty old Susy ! I’m 
goin’ to die, and go to God’s house, and 
then you’ll be sorry you didn’t ’tend to your 
little sister.” 

Susy could never bear to hear Prudy 
talk about going to God’s house. Her con- 
science pricked her when she saw that the 
poor child was grieved ; and she resolved, 
every time she was late, that she would 
never be late again. 


92 


SISTER SUSY. 


Prudy had a great many odd fancies now ; 
among others, she had a fancy that she did 
not like the name of Prudy. 

"Why, only think,” said she, "you keep 
a-calling me Prudy, and Prudy, and Prudy. 
It makes my head ache, to have you say 
Prudy so much.” 

"But, my dear child,” said Mr. Parlin, 
smiling, "it happens, unfortunately, that 
Prudy is your name ; so I think you will 
have to try and bear it as well as you 
can.” 

"But I can’t bear it any longer,” said the 
child, bursting into tears. "Prudy is all 
lame and sick, and I never shall walk any 
more while you call me Prudy, papa.” 

Mr. Parlin kissed his little daughter’s 
pale cheek, and said, "Then we will call 
you pet names ; will that do ? ” 

Prudy smiled with delight. 


ROSY FRANCES EASTMAN MARY. 93 


I’ve thought of a real beautiful, splendid 
name,” said she. " It is Rosy Frances East- 
man Mary ; ain’t it splendid ? ” 

After this announcement, Prudy expected 
the family would be sure to call her Rosy 
Frances Eastman Mary; and, indeed, they 
were quite willing to please her, whenever 
they could remember the name. They all 
supposed it was a fancy she would forget 
in a day or two ; but, instead of that, she 
clung to it more and more fondly. If any 
one ollered her an orange, or roasted apple, 
and said, ”Look, Prudy; here is something 
nice for you,” she would turn her face over 
to one side on the pillow, and make no 
reply. If she wanted a thing very much, 
she would never accept it when she was ad- 
dressed by the obnoxious name of Prudy. 
Even when her father wanted to take her 
in his arms to rest her, and happened t(j 


94 


SISTEli SUSY. 


say, "Prudy, shall I hold you a little 
while?” she would say, "Who was you 
a-talkin’ to, papa? There isn’t any Prudy 
here ! ” Then her hither had to humble 
himself, and ask to be forgiven for being 
so forgetful. 

The child had a delicate appetite, and her 
mother tried to tempt it with little niceties ; 
but, no matter what pains she took, Prudy 
relished nothing unless it was given to her 
as Rosy Frances, the little girl who was not 
Prudy. 

"O, here is a glass of lemonade for you, 
Prudy ; made on purpose for you,” Susy 
Would say ; " do drink it ! ” 

"O, dear me, suz,” cried Prudy, with 
tears falling over her cheeks; "O, Susy, 
you plague me, and I never done a thing 
to you ! You called me Prudy, and I ain’t 
Prudy, never again ! Call me Rosy Frances 


ROSY FRANCES EASTMAN MARY. 

Eastman Mary, and I’ll drink the lemon- 
ade.” 

You precious little sister,” said Susy, 
bending ovei- her gently, "you’ll forgive me ; 
won’t you, darling?” 

"I’ll try to,” replied Prudv, with a look 
of meek forbearance, as sue sipped the lem- 
onade. 


7 


CHAPTER VII. 


LrT7'LE TROXIBT.es. 

Somebody said once to Susy and Fioo»y, 
when they were having a fioEc in "Prudy’s 
sitting-room,” up stairs, " AVhat happy little 
things ! You don’t know what trouble is, 
and never will, till you grow up ! ” 

The little girls preseived a respeetful 
silence, till the lady was out of hearing, and 
then held an indignant discussion as to the 
truth of what she had said. It "would have 
been a discussion, I mean, if they had not 
both taken, the same side of the question. 

"How she sighed,” said Susy, "just as if 
she was the melancholust person that ever 


LITTLE TKOUBLES. 


97 


was ! ” Susy was famous for the use she 
made of adjectives, forming the superlatives 
just as it happened. 

"Yes, just the way,” responded Flossy. 
‘'I’d like to know Avhat ever happened to 
her 9 Pshaw ! She laughed this afternoon, 
and ate apples fast enough ! ” 

"O, she thinks she must make believe 
have a dreadful time, because she is grown 
up,” said Susy, scornfully. "She’s forgot 
she was ever a little girl ! I’ve had troubles ; 
I guess I have ! And 1 know one thing, I 
shall remember ’em when I grow upi and 
not say, ' What happy little things ! ’ to 
children. It’s real hateful ! ” 

Little folks have trouble, to be sure. 
Their hearts are full of it, and running over, 
sometimes ; and how can the largest heart 
that ever beat be more than full, and run- 
ning over? 


98 


SISTER SUSY. 


Susy had daily trials. They were sent to 
her because they were good for her. Shad- 
ows and night-dews are good for flowers. 
If the sun had shone cn Susy always, and 
she had never had any shadows and night- 
dews, she would have scorched up into a 
selfish girl. 

One of her trials was Miss Dotty Dimple. 
Now, she loved Dotty dearly, and considered 
her funny all over, from the crown of her 
head to the soles of her little twinkling feet, 
which were squeezed into a pair of gaiters. 
Dotty loved those gaiters as if they were 
alive. She had a great contempt for the 
slippers she wore in the morning, but it was 
her " darlin’ gaiters,” which she put on in 
the afternoon, and loved next to father and 
mother, and all her best friends. 

When ladies called, she stepped very brisk- 
ly across the floor, looking down at her feet, 


LITTLE TROUBLES. 


99 


{iiul tiptoeing about, till the ladies smiled, 
and said, "O, Avhat sweet little boots!” and 
then she was perfectly happy. 

Susy was not very wide awake in the 
morning; but Dotty was stirring as soon 
as there was a peep of light, and usually 
stole into Susy’s bed to have a frolic. Noth- 
ing but a story would keep her still, and 
poor Susy often wondered which was harder, 
to be used as a football liy Dotty, or to tell 
stories with her eyes shut. 

"O, Dotty Dimple, keep still ; can’t you? 
there’s a darling,” she would plead, longing 
for another nap ; "'don't kill me.” 

"No, no ; me won’t kill,” the little one 
would reply ; " ’tisn’t 'pooty to kill ! ” 

"O, dear, you little, cunning, darling 
plague ; now hush, and let me go to sleep 1” 
Then Dotty would plant both feet firmly 
on Susy’s chest, and say, in her teasing 


100 


SISTER SUSY. 


little voice, as troublesome as the 1mm of 
a raosqiiito, — 

" Won’t you tell me ’tory — tell me a ’tory 
— tell me a ’tory, Susy.” 

" Well, what do you want to hear? ’ 

Now, it was natural for Susy to feel cross 
when she Avas sleepy. It cost her a hard 
struggle to speak pleasantly, and Avhen she 
succeeded in doing so, I set it doAvn as one 
of her greatest victories over herself. The 
Quaker motto of her grandmother, " Let 
patience have her perfect Avork,” helped her 
sometimes, Avhen she could Avakc up enough 
to remember it. 

"Tell ’bout little yelloAv gell,” said the 
voice of the musquito, over and over again. 

Susy roused herself after the third re- 
quest, and sleepily asked if something else 
AA'ouldn’t do ? 

" I had a little nobby-colt.”' 


LITTLE TIiOUBLES. 


101 


"No, no, you you di'iCt; grand- 

Ilia had the nobby ! Tell yellow gell.” 

" O,” sighed Susy, " how can you want to 
hear that so many, many times? Well, 
once when I was a little bit of a girl ” 

"’Bout’s 'big as me, you said,'’ put in 
Dotty. 

'O, yes, I did say so once, and I suppose 
I must tell it so every time, or you’ll fuss ! 
Well, I had a yellow dress all striped off in 
checks ” 

"Di’n’t it go this way?” said Dotty, 
smoothing the sheet with her little hand, 
"and this way?” 

" AVhat ? What ? ” Susy roused herself 
and rubbed her eyes. " O, yes, it went in 
checks ; and I was at grandma Parlin’s, and 
Grace — Grace — O, Grace and I Avent into 
the pasture where there were a couple of 
cows, a gray cow and a red cow.” 


102 


SISTER SUSY. 


" Now you iiiust say what is couple,” 
says Dotty. 

” Then what is couple ? ” 

" Gray cow,” answers Dotty, very gravely. 

" So when the cows saw us coming, they — 
they — O, they threw up their heads, and 
stopped eating grass — in the air. I mean 
— threw — up — their heads.” Susy was 
nearly asleep. 

"Up in the air?” 

"Yes, of course, up in the air. (There, 
I 2tnU wake up !) And the gray cow began 
to run towards us, and Grace says to me, 
' O, my, she thinks you’re a pumpkin ! ’ ” 

"You?” 

"Yes, me, because my dress was so yel- 
low. I was just as afraid of the cow as I 
could be.” 

" Good cow ! Tie wouldn’t hurt ! ” 

" No, the cow was good, and didn’t think 


LITTLE TROUBLES. 


103 


I was a pumpkin, not the least speck. But 
I was so afraid, that I crept under the bars, 
and ran home.” 

" To grandma’s house ? ” 

” Yes ; and grandma laughed.” 

''Well, where was me?” was the next 
question, after a pause. 

Then, when the duty of story-telling was 
I^erfoi'iiied, Susy would gladly have gone 
back to "climbing the dream-tree;” but no, 
she must still listen to Dotty, though she an- 
swered her questions in an absent-minded 
way, like a person " hunting for a forgotten 
dream.” 

One morning she was going to ride with 
her cousin Percy. It had been some time 
since she had seen Wings, except in the 
stable, where she visited him every day. 

But Dotty had set her heart on a rag-baby 
which Susy had promised to dress, and 


104 


SISTER SUSY. 


PiTicly waj anxious that Susy should phi}? 
several games of checkers with her. 

" O, clear,” said the eldest sister, with the 
perplexed air of a mother who has disobe- 
dient little ones to manage. I think I 
have about as much as I can bear. The 
children always make a fuss, just as sure 
as I want to go out.” 

The old, impatient spirit was rising ; that 
spirit which it was one of the duties of 
Susy’s life to keep under control. 

She went into the bathing-room, and 
drank off a glass of cold water, and talked 
to herself a while, for she considered that 
the safest way. 

"H ave 1 any right to be cross? Yes, I 
think I have. Here Dotty woke me up, 
right in the middle of a dream, and I’m 
sleepy this minute. Then Prudy is a little 
babyish thing, and always was — making a 


LITTLE TROUBLES. 


105 


fuss if I forget to cull her Rosy Frunces 1 
Yes, I’ll be cross, and act just as I want to. 
It’s too hard work to keep pleasant ; I won t 
try.” 

She walked along to the door, but, by 
that time, the better spirit was struggling 
to be heard. 

" Now, Susy Parliii,” it said, " you little 
girl with a pony, and a pair of skates, and 
feet to walk on, and everything you want, 
ain’t you ashamed, when you think of that 
dear little sister you pushed down stairs — 
no, didn’t push — that poor little lame 
sic 5 ter ! — O, hark ! there is your mother 
winding up that hard splint! How would 
you feel with such a thing on your hip? 
Oo, this minute, and comfort Prudy ! ” 

The inrp atient feelings were gone for that 
time ; Susy had swallowed them, or they had 
flown out of the window. 


] 0 () 


SISTER SUSY. 


"Now Rosy Frances Eastman Mary,” 
said she, " if your splint is all fixed. I’ll 
comb your hair.” 

The splint Avas made of hard, polished 
wood and brass. Under it were strips of 
plaster an inch wide, which wound round 
and round the poor Avounded limb. These 
strips of plaster became loose, and there 
Avas a little key-hole in the splint, into 
Avdiich Mrs. Parlin put a key, and Avound 
up and tightened the plaster cvciy morn- 
ing. This operation did not hurt Prudy 
at all. 

"Noaa^,” said Susy, after she had combed 
Prudy’s hair carefuky, and put a net ov^cr 
it, until her mother should lie ready to 
curl it, " noAV Ave Avill have a game of 
checkers.” 

Prudy played in high glee, for Susy al- 
lowed her to jump all her men, and march 


LITTLE TROUBLES. 


107 


triumphiuitly into the king-row, at the head 
of a victorious army. 

"There, now. Rosy,” said Susy, gently, 
^ are you willing to let me go out riding ? I 
can’t play any more if I ride, for I must 
dress Dotty’s doll, and feed my canar3^” 

" O, well,” said Prud}^ considering the 
matter, " I’m sick ; I tell 3^011 how it is, I’m 
sick, 3’ou know; but — well, 3^011 may go, 
Susy, if 3^ou’ll make up a story as long as 
a mile.” 

Sus3^ really felt grateful to Prudy, but 
it was her own gentle manner which had 
charmed the sick child into giving her 
consent. 

Then Susy proceeded to dress Dotty’s 
doll in a veiy simple fashion, with two holes 
for short sleeves, and a skirt with a raw 
edge ; but she looked kind and pleasant 
while she was at work, and Dott3^ was just 


108 


SISTER SUSY. 


as well i)lcascd as if it had been an elegant 
costume she was preparing. And it was 
really good enough for a poor deformed 
rag-baby, with a head shaped like a stove- 
pipe. 

Susy w\as delighted to find how well a 
little patience served her in amusing " the 
children.” Next, she Avent to give Daudy 
his morning batli. Mrs. Parlin still thought 
it a dangerous practice, but had not seen 
Mrs. Mason, to question her about it, and 
Susy Avas too obstinate in her opinion to 
listen to her mother. 

"I must do it,” said Susy; "it has been 
ever so long since Dandy Avas bathed, and 
I shouldn’t take any comfort riding, mamma, 
if I didn’t leave him clean.” 

Susy plunged the trembling canary int(; 
his little bathing-boAvl, in some haste. lie 
struggled as usual, and begged, Avith his 


LITTLE TROUBLES. 


lOU 

w^eak, piping voice, to be spared such an in- 
fliction. But Susy was resolute. 

" It’ll do you good, Ducky Daddies ; we 
mustn’t have any lazy, dirty birdies in this 
house.” 

Ducky Daddies rolled up his little eyes, 
and gasped for breath. 

” O, look, mother ! ” cried Susy, laughing ; 
'' how funny Dandy acts ! Do you suppose 
it’s to make me laugh? O, is he fainting 
away?” 

" Fainting away ! My dear child, he is 
dying ! ” 

This was the sad truth. Mrs. Parlin 
fanned him, hoping to call back the lingering 
breath. But it was too late. One or two 
more throbs, and his frightened little heart 
had ceased to lieat ; his frail life had gone 
out as suddenly as a spark of fire. 

Susy was too much shocked to speak. 


110 


SISTER SUSY. 


She stood holding the stiffening bird in hei 
hands, and gazing at it. 

Mrs. Parlin was very sorry for Susy, and 
had too much kindness of feeling to add to 
her distress by saying, — 

"You know how I warned you, Susy.” 

Susy was already suffering for her ob- 
stinacy and disregard of her mother’s ad- 
vice ; and Mrs. Parlin believed she would 
lay the lesson to heart quite as well without 
more words. It was a bitter lesson. Susy 
loved dumb creatures dearly, and was just 
becoming very fond of Dandy. 

Ill the midst of her trouble, and while 
her eyes were swollen with tears, her cousin 
Percy came with Wings and the sleigh to 
give her the promised ride. Susy no longer 
cared for going out : it seemed to her that 
her heart was almost broken. 

"Well, cousin Indigo, what is the mat- 


LITTLE TROUBLES. 


Ill 


ter ? ” said Percy ; ” you look as if this 
world was a howling wilderness, and you 
wanted to howl too. What, crying over 
that bird ? Poll ! I can buy you a screech- 
owl any time, that will make twice the 
noise he could in his best days. Come, 
hurry, and put-your things on ! ” 

Susy buried her face in her apron. 

”ril compose a dirge for him,” said Percy. 

“ My bird is dead, said Susy P., 

My bird is dead ; O, deary me ! 

He sang so sweet, te whee, te whee ; 

He sings no more ; O, deary me ! 

Go hang his cage up in the tree, 

That cage I care no more to see. 

My bird is dead, cried Susy P.” 

These provoking words Percy drawled out 
in a sin<r-song voice. It was too much. 
Susy eyes flashed through her tears. 

"You’ve always laughed at me, Percy 
Eastman, and plagued me about Freddy 


112 


SISTER S. SY. 


Jackson, and everything, and I’ve borne 
it like a — like a lady. But Avhen you go 
to laughing at my poor little Dandy that’s 
dead, and can’t speak ” 

Susy was about to say, " Can’t speak for 
himself,” but saw in time how absurdly 
she was talking, and stopped short. 

Percy laughed. 

" Where are you going with that cage ? ” 

"Going to put it away, where I’ll never 
see it again,” sobbed poor Susy. 

"Give it to me,” said Percy: "I’ll take 
care of it for you.” 

If Susy’s eyes had not been blinded by 
tears, she would have been surprised to see 
the real pity in Percy’s face. 

He was a rollicking boy, full of meiTi- 
ment and bluster, and what tender feelings 
he possessed, he took such a wonderful 
amount of pains to conceal, that Susy never 


LITTLE TROUBLES. 


113 


suspected he had any. She would have en- 
joyed her ride if she had not felt so full 
of grief. The day was beautiful. There 
had been a storm, and the trees looked as 
if they had been snowballing one another ; 
but Susy had no eye for trees, and just theu 
hardly cared for her pony. 

l^ercy put the cage in the sleigh, undei 
the buffalo robes; and when they reached 
his own door, he carried the cage into the 
house, while Susy drew a sigh of relief, 
lie offered to stuff Dandy, or have him 
stuffed ; but ' Susy rejected the idea with 
horror. 

"No, if Dandy was dead, he was ali 
dead ; she didn’t want to see him sitting 
up stiff and cold, when he couldn’t sing r 
speck.” 


114 


SISTER SUSY. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

/ 

ANNIE LOVEJOY. 

But the day was not over yet. The 
bright sun and blue sky were doing what 
they could to make a cheerful time of it, 
but it seemed as if Susy fell more deeply 
into trouble, as the hours passed on. 

There are such days in everybody’s life, 
when it rains small vexations from morning 
till night, and when all we can do is to hope 
for better things to-morrow. 

It was Wednesday ; and in the afternoon, 
Flossy Eastman came over with a new game, 
and while the little girls, Flossy, Susy, and 
Prudy were playing it, and trying their best 


ANNIE LOVEJOY. 


115 


to keep Dotty Dimple’s prying fingers ant] 
long curls out of the way, in came Miss 
Annie Lovcjoy. 

This was a little neighbor, who, as the 
children sometimes privately declared, Avas 
"always ’round.” ]Mrs. Parlin had her own 
private doubts about the advantages to be 
derived from her friendship, and had some- 
times gone so far as to send her home, when 
she seemed more than usually in the way. 

Annie’s mother lived next door, but all 
Mrs. Parlin kncAV of her, Avas Avhat she 
could sec and hear from her OAvn AvindoAvs ; 
and that little Avas not very agreeable. She 
saAv that INlrs. Lovcjoy dressed in gaudy 
colors, and loaded herself Avith jcAA'elry ; and 
she could hear her scold her servants and 
children Avith a loud, shrill voice. 

The tAvo ladies had never exchanged calls ; 
but Annie, it seemed, had fcAV playmates, 


116 


SISTER SUSY. 


and she clung to Susy with such a show of 
aflection, that ]\Irs. Parlin could not forbid 
her visits, although she watched her closely; 
anxious, as a careful mother should bo, to 
make sure she was a proper companion for 
her little daughter. So far she had never 
knoAvn her to say or do anything morally 
wrong, though her manners were not exactly 
those of a Avell-bred little girl. 

This afternoon, when the new game was 
broken up by the entrance of Annie, the 
children began the play of housekeeping, 
because Prudy could join in it. Susy found 
she enjoyed any amusement much more 
when it pleased the little invalid. 

" I will be the lady of the house,” said 
Annie, promptly, "because I have rings on 
my fingers, and a coral necklace. My name 
is Mrs. Piper. Prudy, — no. Rosy, — you 
shall be jNIrs. Shotwell, come a-visiting nle ; 


ANNIE LOVEJOY.' 


117 


because you can’t do anything else. We’ll 
make believe you’ve lost your husband in 
the wars. I know a Mrs. Shot well, and 
she is always taking-on^ and saying, 'My 
poor dear husband,’ under her handkerchief ; 
just this way.” 

The children laughed at the nasal twang 
which Annie gave to the words, and Prudy 
imitated it to perfection, not knowing it Avas 
wrong. 

"Well, what shall I be?” said Susy, not 
very well pleased that the first characters 
had been taken already. 

" O, you shall be a hired girl, and wear 
a handkerchief on your head, just as our 
girl does ; and you must be a little deaf, 
and keep saying, 'What, ma’am?’ when I 
speak to you.” 

"And I,” said Florence, " Avill be Mr. 
Peter Piper, the head of the family.” 


118 


bISTEK SUSY. 


Yes,” returned Annie, "you ean put on 
a water-proof cloak, and you will make quite 
a good-looking husband ; but I shall be the 
head of the family myself, and have things 
about as I please 1 ” 

"Well, there,” cried Flossy, slii)ping her 
arms into the sleeves of her cloak, " I don’t 
know about that ; I don’t think it’s very 
polite for you to treat your husband in that 
way.” 

Flossy wanted to have the control of 
family matters herself. 

" But I believe in 'Woman’s Rights,’ ” said 
Annie, with a toss of the head, '‘ and if 
there’s anything I despise, it is a man 
meddling about the house.” 

Here little Dotty began to cause a dis 
turbance, by sticking a fruit-knife into the 
edges of the " what-not,” and making a 
whirring noise. 



Susy, Percy, and Wings. — Page 113 






ANNIE LOVEJOY. 


Ill) 


" I wouldn’t do so, Dotty,” said Susy, 
^oiug up to her ; " it troul)les us ; and, lie- 
sides, I’m afraid it will break the knife.” 

"I don’t allow my hired girl to interfere 
with my children,” said Annie, speaking up 
in the character of Mrs. Piper ; " I am mis- 
tress of the house, I’d have you to know ! 
There, little daughter, they shan’t plague 
her; she shall keep on doing mischief; so 
she shall ! ” 

Dotty needed no coaxing to keep on doing 
mischief, but hit the musical knife harder 
than ever, giving it a dizzy motion, like the 
clapper in a mill. 

Prudy was quite annoyed by the sound, 
but did not really know whether to be ner- 
vous or not, and concluded to express hei 
vexation in groans : the groans she was 
giving in memory of the departed Mr. Shot- 
well, who had died of a " camion bullet. 


120 


SISTER SUSY. 


'' ]My good Mrs. Shotwell/’ said Mrs. 
Piper, trying to "make conversation,” "1 
think 1 have got something in my eye : will 
you please tell me how it looks ? ” 

" O,” said Prudy, peeping into it, ''your 
eye looks very well, ma’am ; don’t you 
’xcwse it ; it looks well enough for me." 

" Ahem ! ” said Mrs. Piper, laughing, and 
settling her head-dress, which was Susy’s red 
scarf: "are your feet warm, Mrs. Shotwell?” 

"Thank you, ma’am,” replied Prudy, "I 
don’t feel ’em cold. O, dear, if your hus- 
band was all deaded up, I guess you’d cry, 
Mrs. Piper.” 

Susy and Flossy looked at each other, 
and smiled. They thought Prudy seemed 
more like herself than they had known her 
for a long time. 

" You must go 'right out of the parlor, 
Betsey,” said Mrs. Piper, flourishing the 


ANNIE LOVE JOY. 


121 


{X)ker ; " I mean you, Susy — the parlor 
isn’t any place for hired girls.” 

" Ma’am ? ” said Susy, inclining her head 
to one side, in order to hear better. 

" O, dear ! the plague of having a deaf 
girl ! ” moaned Mrs. Piper. " You don’t 
knoAv how trying it is, Mrs. Shotwell ! 
That hired girl, Betsey, hears with her elbows, 
Mrs. Shotwell; I verily believe she does!” 

" O, no, ma’am,’' replied Prudy ; " I guess 
she doesn’t hear with her elbows, does she ? 
If she heard with her elbows, she wouldn’t 
have to ask you over again ! ” 

This queer little speech set IVIr. Piper and 
his wife, and their servant, all to laughing, 
and Betsey looked at her elbows, to see if 
they were in the right place. 

"'Will you please, ma’am,” said Prudy, 
ask Betsey to hot a flatiron ? I’ve cried my 
handkerchief all up ! ” 


122 


SISTER SUSY. 


"Yes; go right out, Betsey,' and hot a 
flatiron,” said Mrs. Piper, very hospitalily. 
" Go out, this instant, and build a fircy 
Betsey.” 

"Yes, go right out, Betsey,’^ echoed Mr. 
Piper, who could find nothing better to do 
than to repeat his wife’s words ; for, in spite 
of himself, she did appear to be the "head 
of the family.” 

" It was my darlin’ husband’s handker- 
chief,” sobbed Prudy. 

" Rather a small one for a man,” said Mr. 
Piper, laughing. 

"Well,” replied Prudy, rather quick for 
a thought, " my husband had a very small 
nose ! ” 

Mrs. Piper tried to make more " conver 
Bation.” 

" O, Mrs. Shotwcll, you ought to be ex- 
ceeding thankful you’re a widow, and don’t 


ANNIE LOVEJOY. 


123 


keep house ! I think my hired girls will 
carry down my gray hairs to the grave ! 
The last one I had was Irish, and very 
Catholic.” 

Priidy groaned from sympathy, and wiped 
her eyes on that corner of her handkerchief 
which was supposed to be not quite " cried 
up.” 

"Yes, indeed, it was awful,” continued 
Mrs. Piper ; " for she was always going 
to masses and mass-meetin«:s ; and there 
eoiddn’t anybody die but they must be 
' waked,’ you know.” 

" Why, I didn’t know they could be waked 
uj) when they was dead,” said Prudy, open- 
ing her eyes. 

"O, but they only make believe you can 
wake ’em,” said INIrs. Piper ; " of course it 
isn’t true ! For my part, I don’t believe a 
word an Irish girl says, any way.” 


J24 


SISTER SUSY. 


” Hush, my child,” she continued, turning 
to Dotty, who was now sharpening the silver 
knife on the edges of the iron grate. "Bet- 
sey, why in the world don’t you see to that 
baby ? I believe you are losing your mind ! ” 
" That makes me think,” said Prudy, sud- 
denly breaking in with a new idea ; " what do 
you s’pose the reason is folks can’t be waked 
up? What makes ’em stay in heaven all the 
days, and nights, and years, and never come 
down here to see anybody, not a minute? ” 
"AVhat an idea!” said Annie. "Pm sure 
I don’t know.” 

"Well, Pve been a thinkin’,” said Prudy, 
answering her own question, "that when 
God has sended ’em up to the sky, they like 
to stay up there the best. It’s a ] Jeer place, 
a great deal nicer place, up to God’s house.” 
"O, yes, of course,” replied Annio ^ "but 


ANNIE LOVEJOY. 


125 


" I’ve been a thiiikin’,” continued Prudy, 
''that when I go up to God’s house, I slian’t 
wear the splint. I can run all over the 
house, and he’ll be willing I should go up 
stairs, and down cellar, you know.’’ 

Prudy sighed. Sometimes she almos! 
longed for ” God’s house.” 

" \^"ell, let’s go on with our play,” said 
Annie, impatiently. " It’s most supper-time, 
Mrs. Shotwell. Come in, Betsey.” 

" Ma’am ? ” said Betsey, appearing at tlie 
door, and turning up one ear, very much as 
if it were a dipper, in which she expected to 
catch the words which dropped from the lips 
of her mistress. ” Betsey, have you attended 
to your sister — to my little child, I mean? 
Then go out and make some sassafias cakes, 
and some eel-pie, and some S(pnr>rl-soup ; 
and set the table in five minutes . <!'» 
hear ? ” 


126 


SISTER SUSY. 


"McT’am?” said the deaf servant; "what 
did you say about gingerbread?” 

Susy did not like her part of the game ; 
but she played it as well as she could, and 
let Annie manage everything, because that 
was what pleased Annie. 

"O, how stupid Betsey is!” said Mr. 
Piper, coming to the aid of his wife. "Mrs. 
Piper says cel-jumbles, and sassafras-pie, 
and pound-cake ; all made in live minutes ! ” 

Here everybody laughed, and Prudy, sud- 
denly remembering her part, sighed, and 
said, — 

" O, my darlin’ husband used to like jum- 
ble-pie ! I’ve forgot to cry for ever so 
long! ” 

Susy began to set the tal)le, and w^ent into 
the nursery for some cake and cookies, 
which were kept in an old tin chest, on pur- 
pose for this play of housekeeping, which 


ANNIE LOVEJOY. 


127 


hatl now been carried on regularly every 
Wednesday and Saturday afternoon, for 
some time. 

Susy opened the cake-chest, and found 
nothing in it but 'a few dry cookies : the 
fruit-cake was all gone. Who could have 
eaten it? Not Flossy, for she had a singular 
dislike for raisins and currants, and never so 
much as tasted fruit-cake. Not Prudy, foi 
the poor little thing had grown so lame by 
this time, that she was unable to bear her 
weight on her feet, much less to walk into 
the nursery. Dotty could not be the thief. 
Her baby-conscience was rather tough and 
elastic, and I suppose she would have felt 
no more scruples about nibbling nice things, 
than an unprincipled little mouse. 

But, then. Dotty couldn’t reach the cake- 
chest ; so she was certainly innocent. 

Then Susy remembered in a moment that 

9 


128 


SISTER SUSY. 


it was Annie : Annie had run into the house 
morning and night, and had often said, "I’m 
right hungry. I’m going to steal a piece of 
our cake ! ” 

So it seemed that Anuie had eaten it alh 
Susy ran back to Prudy’s sitting-room, where 
her little guests were seated, and said, trying 
not to laugh, — 

"Please, ma’am, I just made some eel- 
jumhlcs and things, and a dog came in and 
stole them.” 

"Very well, Betsey,” said Mrs. Piper, 
serenely; "make some more.” 

" Yes, make some more,” echoed Mr. 
Piper ; and added, " chain up that dog.” 

"But real honest true,” said Susy, "the 
fruit-cake is all gone out of the chest. 
You ate it up, you know, Annie ; but it’s 
jo' matter: we’ll cut up some cookies, or, 
»nay be, mother’ll let us have some oyster- 
«rackers.” 


ANNIE LOVEJOY. 


121 ) 


/ ate up the cake ! ” cried Annie ; " it’s 
no such a thing ; I never touched it ! ” Her 
face flushed as she spoke. 

" O, but you did,” persisted Susy ; ''I sup 
pose you’ve forgotten ! ^ oii went to the 

cake-chest this morning, and last night, and 
yesterday noon, and ever so many more 
times.” 

Annie was too angry to speak. 

"But it’s just as well,” added Susy, po- 
litely ; " you could have it as well as not, 
and perfectly welcome ! ” 

"What are you talking about?” cried 
Annie, indignantly ; for she thought she 
saw a look of surprise and contempt on 
Flossy’s face, and flincicd that Flossy de- 
spised her because she had a weakness foi 
fruit-cake. 

" I wonder if you take me for a pig, Susy 
Parlin ! 1 heard what your mother said 


130 


SISTER SUSY. 


about that cake ! She said it was too dry 
for her company, but it was too rich foi 
little girls, and we must only eat a teeny 
speck at a time. I told my mamma, and 
she laughed, to think such mean dried-up 
cake was too rich for little girls ! ” 

Susy felt her temper rising, but her desire 
to be polite did not desert her. 

" It ivas rich, nice cake, Annie ; but 
mother said the slices had been cut a great 
wliile, and it was drying up. Lot’s not talk 
any more about it.” 

” O, l)ut I shall talk more about it,” cried 
Annie, still more irritated; "you keep liinL 
ing that I tell wrong stories and steal cake ; 
yes, yon do ! and then you ain’t willing to 
let me speak ! ” 

All this sounded like risrliteons indig- 
nation, but was only anger. Annie was 
entirely m the Avrong, and knew it ; therefore 
slie lost her temper. 


ANNIE L(^VEJOY. 


131 


Susy had an unusual amount of self-con- 
trol at this time, merely because she had the 
truth on her side. But her dignified com 
posurc only vexed Annie the more. 

''I won’t stay here to be imposed upon, 
and told that I’m a liar and a thief ; so I' 
won’t ! I’ll go right home this very minute, 
and tell my mother just how you treat your 
company ! ” 

And, in spite of all Susy could say, Annie 
threw on her hood and cloak, and flounced 
out of the room ; forgetting, in her wrath, 
to take olF Susy’s red scarf, which was still 
festooned about her head. 

Well, I’m glad she’s gone,” said Flossy, 
coolly, as the door closed with a slam. 

' She’s a bold tiling, and my mother wouldn’t 
like me to play Avith her, if she kncAV how 
she acts ! She said ' victuals ’ for food, and 
(hat isn’t elegant^ mother says. What right 


132 


SISTER SUSY. 


had silc to set up and say she’d be Mrs. 
Piper ? So forward ! ” 

After all, this was the grievous part of 
the whole to Flossy, — that she had to take 
an inferior part in the play. 

"But I’m sorry she’s gone,” said Susy, un- 
easily. " I don’t like to have her go and tell 
that I wasn’t polite.” 

"You icas polite,” chimed in little Prudy, 
from the sofa ; " a great deal politer’n siie 
was ! I wouldn’t care, if I would be you, 
Susy. I don’t wish Annie was dead, Imt I 
wish she was a duck a-sailin’ on the water ! ” 

The children went back to the game they 
had been playing before Annie came ; but 
the interest was cpiite gone. Their quick- 
tempered little guest had been a " kill-joy,^' 
in spite of her name. 

But the afternoon was not over yet. 
What happened next, I will tell you in 
another chapter. 


WOKAL COURAGE. 


133 


CHAPTER IX. 

MORAL COURAGE. 

Annie Lovejoy had not been gone fifteen 
Tiinntes, when there was a sharp ringing of 
Mi-s. Parlin’s door-bell, and a little l)oy 
gave Xorah the red scarf of Susy’s, and a 
note for Mrs. Parlin. 

Norah suspected they both came from 
Mrs. Lovejoy, and she could sec that lady 
from the opposite window, looking toward 
the house with a very defiant expression. 

Mrs. Parlin opened the note with some 
surprise,- for she had been engaged with 
visitors in the parlor, and did not know what 
had been going on up stairs. 


134 


SISTER susr. 


Whatever Mrs. Lovejoy’s otlicr acconi 
plishmciits might be, she could not write 
very elegantly. The ink was hardly dry, 
and the Avords Avere badly blotted, as Avell 
as incorrectly spelled. 

”Mrs. Parlin. 

" Madam : If my OAvn doughter is a tlieij 
and a Uer^ I beg to be informed. She -has 
no knoivlidg of the cake, whitch Avas so dryed 
up, a hegar woold not touch it. Will Miss 
Susan Parlin come over here, and take back 
her Avords ? 

"Serena Love joy.” 

Mrs. Parlin Avas at a loss to understand 
this, for she had quite forgotten the fact, 
that the children had any cake to use at 
their play of housekeeping. She supposed 
that Susy must have accused Annie of 
prying into the china-closet, Avdiere the 


MORAL COURAGE. 


135 


cakes and jellies were kept. She sent for 
Susy at once. 

"i\Iy daughter,” said she, in her usual 
quiet tones, " did you ever have any reason 
to suppose that Annie Lovejoy went about 
meddling with our things, and peeping into 
the closets ? ” 

" AVhy, no, mother,” replied Susy, much 
surprised ; " she never saw the closets, that 
I know of. AV^hy, mother, what do you 
mean ? ” 

"Never ate cake, did she, without leave?” 

" O, now I know what you mean, mother ! 
Yes’in, she ate some of that fruit-cake you 
gave ns to play with ; and when I told her 
of it, she got angry, and said she was going 
right home, and would tell her mother how T 
treated my company : but I don’t see how 
you found that out ! ” 

" Never mind yet how I found it out, my 


136 


SISTER SUSY. 


dear. I want to know if you arc sure thai 
Annie ate the cake?” 

"Yes, mother : just as certain sure as I can 
he ! You know Dotty can’t reach that high 
shelf in the nursery-closet, and I can’t, with- 
out getting into a chair; and R-udy can’t 
walk a step ; and Flossy despises cake.” 

"But,” said Mrs. Parlin, smiling, "I don’t 
sec that you have proved Annie to be the 
guilty one.” 

"Guilty? O, I don’t know as she is 
(juilty^ mamma ; but she ate the cake ! She 
ate it right before my face and eyes ; but I 
told her it was just as well, she was per- 
fectly welcome, and tried to be as polite 
as if she was a grown-up lady, mother. 
But, O, dear, it didn’t make a speck of dif- 
ference how much I said ; for the more I 
said, the more angry she grew, and I 
couldn’t make her believe I didn’t think 


MORAL COURAGE. 


137 


she was a thief and a liar ! Only think, a 
thief and a liar ! But I never said those 
words at all, mother! 

" Very well, my dear ; I am sure you did 
not. It is a great comfort to me, Susy, that 
I can always rely on your word. You have 
done nothing wrong, and need not be un- 
happy ; but ]\Irs. Lovejoy sends for yon to 
go over and tell her just what you mean 
about the cake ; are you willing to go ? ” 
Susy was not willing; indeed, she was 
very much frightened, and begged her 
mother to excuse her in some way to Mrs. 
Lovejoy, or, if that would not do, to go 
herself and explain the matter for her. 

But, as it was Susy’s own affair, Mrs 
Pari in wished to have as little to do with 
it as possible. Besides, she considered it 
a good opportunity to teach Susy a lesson 
in moral courage. 

Susy started very reluctantly. 


138 


SISTER SUSY. 


" I’m afraid INIrs. Lovcjoy will scold real 
sharp,” said she. ” What shall I do ? O, 
mother, I didn’t see Annie eat all the cake j 
I didn’t Avatch. How do I know but she 
gave some crumbs to the cat? Can’t I — = 
can’t I say, I guess the cat ate it?” 

" Susy ! ” said Mrs. Parlin, sternly, " are 
you more afraid of displeasing Mrs. Love- 
joy than you are of displeasing God? All 
that is required of you is the simple truth. 
ISIerely say to Annie’s mother just what 
you have said to me ; that you saw Annie 
eating cake several times, though there Avas 
no harm in it, and you did not call her 
either a thief or a liar. Speak respectfully, 
but decidedly ; and Avhen you have said all 
that is necessary, leave her politely, and 
come home.” 

Susy called up all her courage Avhen she 
entered ]\Irs. Lovejoy’s house, and saAv that 



MRS. LOVEJOY AND SUSY. — Page 1.39. 



MOUAL COUliAGE. 


13i) 


lady sitting very erect on a sofa, with a 
bleak face, which looked somehow as if a 
north-east wind had blown over it, and 
frozen it. 

"Well, little girl,” said she, without 
waiting for ceremony, " so you call my 
Annie all the bad names you can think of, 
it seems. Is that the way you are brought 
up?” 

"I didn’t call her names, ma’am; she 
ate the cake, but I was willing,” replied 
Susy, calmly and respectfully, though she 
trend jled from head to foot. There was one 
thought which sustained Susy ; she was 
telling the truth, and that was just what 
God wanted her to do. 

" Well,” said Mrs. Lovejoy, " I must say 
/ou’re a dignified little piece! Do you 
know you’ve done the same thing as tc 
tell me 1 lie?” 


140 


SISTER SUSY. 


This was just the way Annie had spoken; 
warping innocent words, and making them 
the occasion of a quarrel. 

Susy could think of nothing which seemed 
exactly right to say to ]\lrs. Lovejoy in 
reply ; so she wisely held her peace. 

" Yes, miss, you’ve insulted my child, 
and, as if that Avere not enough, you come 
over here, deliberately, and insult me, in 
my own house ! ” 

Tears sprang to Susy’s eyes, but she 
resolutely crushed them back. There Avas, 
in her childish mind, a certain sense of 
self-respect, Avhich made her unwilling to 
cry in the presence of such a person as 
Mrs. Lovejoy. She felt instinctively that 
the Avoman Avas not a lady. Susy Avas too 
young to reason about the matter ; but she 
Avas quite sure her oavu mother Avas a model 
of good manners ; and never, never had she 


MORAL COURAGE. 


141 


known her niother to raise her voice to such 
a high key, or speak such angry words ! 

Mrs. Lovejoy said a great many things 
which were both severe and unjust ; but 
Susy managed to keep up a respectful man- 
ner, as her mother had directed. Mrs. 
Lovejoy was disappointed. She had ex- 
pected Susy would quail before her pres- 
ence, and make the most humble confes- 
sions. 

"I always knew,” cried Mrs. Lovejoy, be- 
coming more and more exasperated, — "I 
always knew ^Irs. Parlin held her head 
pretty high ! She is a proud, stuck-up 
woiman, your mother is ; she has taught you 
to look down. on my little girl! O, yes, 
I understand the whole story I You’re a 
beautiful family for neighlmrs ! ” 

Poor Susy was fairly bewildered. 

"Now you may go home as straight lui 


142 


SISTEli SUSY. 


you can go ! But remember one thing % 
never, while we live in this city, shall my 
daughter Annie darken your doors again ! ” 

Susy walked home with downcast head 
and overflowing eyes. Pier heart was very 
heavy, for she felt that she had been dis- 
graced for life, and could never be respected 
any more. Here was a trial so terrible 
that it caused the death of little Dandy to 
seem almost a trifle by eomparison. 

It was strange, Susy thought, hoAv people 
could live through such severe troubles as 
had fallen to her lot to-day. She was a 
little girl of quick and sensitive feelings, and 
a sharp word alwa}'s wounded her more than 
a blow. How that angry woinan had talked 
about her mother ! 

Susy decided, iqDon the whole, that this 
was the sting — this was the "pin in the 
lash,” which had hurt her more than the 


MORAL COURAGE. 


143 


lash. IIow dared Mrs. Lovejoy say a word 
about her own mother, who was certainly 
the best woman that ever lived, always 
excepting the good people in the Bible ! 

By the time she entered the house, her 
indignation had risen like a blaze, and 
burned away all her tears. But should she 
tell her mother what Mrs. Lovejoy had said 
about her own self, about her being " stuck 
up,” and holding her head pretty high? 
Susy could not decide whether she ought 
to tell her, and risk the danger of almost 
breaking her heart ! But before she had 
time to decide, she had poured out the 
whole story in a torrent. 

Strange to say, ]\lrs. Parlin listened with 
perfect calmness, and even said, when Susy 
had finished, — 

"Very well, my dear; now you may go 
and hang up your hood and cloak.” 


144 


SISTER SUSY. 


"But, mother,” said Susy, rushing up 
stairs again, quite out of breath, " now 
I’ve taken care of my things ; but did you 
understand what I said, mother? Annie 
will never come into this house, never 
again ! Her mother forbids it ! ” 

" That is quite fortunate for me, Susy, 
as it saves me the trouble of forbidding it 
myself!” 

"Why, mother, you wouldn’t do such a 
thing as that ! Why, mother, I never heard 
of your doing such a thing in my life ! ” 

"I should regret the necessity very much, 
my child ; but wouldn’t it be better, on the 
whole, to have a little moral courage, and 
put an end to all intercourse between the 
two families, than to live in a constant 
broil?” 

" Why, yes, mother, I suppose so.” 

Susy was beginning to feci more com- 


SIOK.\X COURAGE. 


143 


posed. She saw that her mother understood 
the Avhole story, yet her heart Avas far from 
being broken ! 

'' ’\\diat is moral courage, mother ? ” 

"The courage to do riffht.” 

"Did I liaA^e moral courage AAdien I told 
Mrs. Lovejoy the truth?” 

" Yes, dear. It AA'as hard for you, AA^asn’t 

it? If it had been easy, there Avould have 
* 

been no moral courage about it.” 

" I am "lad I had moral courasfe ! ” said 
Susy, Avith animation. " I kncAV I did some- 
thing ri(jht. but I didn’t knoAV Avhat you 
called it.” 

"Noav,” continued ^Irs. Parlin, "I liaA'^c 
this very day been talking Avith a lady, Avho 
once lived next door to Mrs. Lovejoy ; and 
she tells me enough about her to convince 
me that she is not a person I Avish for 
a neighbor. And I have heard enough 


146 


SISTER SUSY. 


about Annie, too, to feel very sure she is 
not a safe companion for my little daughter.” 

"But, mother,” said Susy, "you are not 
— you don’t feel ' stuck-up ’ above Mrs. 
Lovejoy ? ” 

Mrs. Parlin smiled. 

" That is not a very proper expression, 
Susy ; but I think I do not feel stuch-up above 
lier in the least. I am only anxious that 
my little daughter may not be injured by 
bad examples. I don’t know what sort 
of a little girl Annie might be with proper 
influences, but ” 

" Now, mamma, I don’t Avant to say any- 
thing improper,” said Susy, earnestly ; " but 
wouldn’t it be the pioiisei^t for me to i)lay 
with Annie, and try to make her go to 
Sabbath school, and be better?” 

Mrs. Parlin did not ansAver at once. 


MORAL -COURAGE. 


147 


Susy about people who are " home-niissioi> 
aries,” and do a great deal of good by a 
beautiful example. 

"If you were older, dear, it would bo 
quite different. But, instead of improving 
'Annie, who is a self-willed child, I fear 
you would only grow worse yourself. She 
is bold, and you arc rather timid. She 
wants to lead, and not to follow. I fear 
she will set you bad examples.” 

" 1 didn’t know, mamma ; but I thought 
I was almost old enough to set my oicn 
examples! I’m the oldest of the family.” 

Susy said no more about becoming a 
home-missionary to Annie ; for, although 
she , could not quite sec the force of her 
mother’s reasoning, she believed her mother 
was always right. 

"But what does she mean by calling me 
timid ? She has blamed me a great deal 
for being hold.’^ 


148 


SISTER SUSY. 


Yes, bold Susy certainly was, when there 
was a fence to climb, a pony to ride, or a 
storm to be faced ; but she was, neverthe- 
less, a little faint-hearted when people 
laughed at her. But Susy was learning 
every day, and this time it had been a 
lesson in moral courage. She did not fully 
understand her mother, however, as you will 
sec by <ind by. 


iiUTHlE TUiiNEU. 


141^ 


CHAPTER X. 

RUTHIE TURNER. 

“ The darkest day, 

Wait till to-morrow, will have passed way.” 

The next morning, Susy awoke with a 
faint recollection that something unpleasant 
had occurred, though she could not at first 
remember what it was. 

"But I didn’t do anything wrong,” was 
her second thought. " Now, after I say my 
prayers, the next thing I’ll feed — O, Dandy 
is dead ! ” 

" See here, Susy, said Percy, coming into 
the dining-room, just after breakfast; "did 
you ever see this cage before?” 


150 


SISTER SUSY. 


” Now, Percy ! When you know I want 
it out of my sight ! ” 

Then, in the next breath, "Why, Percy 
Eastman, if here isn’t your beautiful mock- 
ing-bird in the cage ! ” 

" Yes, Susy ; and if you’ll keep him, and 
be good to him, you’ll do me a great favor.” 

It was a long while before Susy could be 
persuaded that this rare bird was to be her 
" owncst own.” It was a wonderfully gifted 
little creature. Susy could but own that he 
was just as good as a canary, only a great 
deal better. " The greater included the 
less.” lie had as sweet a voice, and a vast 
deal more compass. His powers of mimicry 
were very amusing to poor little Prudy, 
who was never tired of hearing him mew 
like a kitten, quack like a duck, or whistle 
like a school-boy. 

Susy was still more delighted than Prudy. 


IIUTHIE TURNER. 


151 


It was so comforting, too, to know that she 
was doing Percy " a great favor,” by accept- 
ing his beautiful present. She wondered in 
her own mind how he could be tired of such 
an interesting pet, and ask her to take it, 
just to get rid of it ! 

About this time, INIr. Parlin bought for 
Prudy a little armed-chair, which rcdlcd 
about the floor on wheels. This Prudy her- 
self could propel with only the outlay of 
a very little strength ; but there were da} s 
when she did not care to sit in it at all. 
Prudy seemed to grow worse. The doctor 
was hopeful, very hopeful ; but Mrs. Parlin 
was not. 

Prudy’s dimpled hands had grown so thin, 
that }'ou could trace the winding path of 
every blue vein quite distinctly. Her eyes 
were large and mournful, and seemed to be 
always asking for pity. She grew quiet 


152 SISTER SUSY. 

and patient — " painfully patient/' her fathei 
said. Indeed, Mr. Parlin, as well as his 
wife, feared the little sufferer was ripening 
for heaven. 

"Mamma,” said she, one day, "mamma, 
you never snip my fingers any nowadays 
do you? When I’m just as naughty, you 
never snip my fingers ! ” 

Mrs. Parlin turned her fiice away. There 
were tears in her eyes, and she did not like 
to look at those little white fingers, which 
she was almost afraid would never have the 
natural, childish naughtiness in them any 
more. 

" I think sick and patient little girls don’t 
need punishing,” said she, after a while. 

Do you remember how you used to think 
I snipped your hands to ' get the naughty 
out?’ You thought the naughty was all in 
your little hands ! ” 


KUTIIIE TURNER. 


153 


'^But it wasn’t, mamma,” said Prudy, 
slowly and solemnly. "I know where it 
was : it was in my heart"" 

'' Who can take the naughty out of our 
hearts, dear? Do you ever think?” 

" Our Father in heaven. No one else 
can. lie knows how to snip our hearts, 
and get the naughty out. Sometimes he 
scuds the earache and the toothache to 
Susy, and the — the — lameness to me. 
O, he has a great many ways of snipping ! ” 
Prudy was showing the angel-side of her 
nature now. Suffering was "making her 
perfect.” She had a firm belief that God 
knew all about it, and that somehow or 
other it was "all right.” Her mother took 
a great deal of pains to teach her this. She 
knew that no one can bear affliction witli 
real cheerfulness who does not trust in God. 
But there was now and then a bright day 


154 


SISTER SUSY. 


when Prudy felt quite buoyant, aim wanted 
to play. Susy left everything then, and 
tried to amuse her. If this lameness was 
refining little Prudy, it w^as also making 
Susy more patient. She could not look at 
her little sister’s pale face, and not be 
touched with pity. 

One afternoon. Flossy Eastman and Ru- 
thie Turner came to see Susy ; and, as it w^as 
one of Prudy’s best days, Mrs. Parlin said 
they might play in Prudy’s sitting-room. 
Ruthie w'as wdiat Susy called an " old-fash- 
ioned little girl.” She lived w’ith a widowed 
mother, and had no brothers and sisters, 
so that she appeared much older than she 
really w^as. She liked to talk with grown 
people upon wise subjects, as if she were 
at least tw^enty-five years old. Susy kneiv 
that this w'as not good manners, and she 
longed to say so to Ruthie. 


RUTH IE TURNER. 


155 


Aunt Madge was iu Prudy’s sitting-room 
ivbeii Ruthie entered. Ruthie went up to 
her and shook hands at once. 

"I suppose it is Susy’s aunt Madge,” said 
she. " I am delighted to see you, for Susy 
says you love little girls, and know lots 
of games.” 

There was such a quiet composure in 
Ruth’s manner, and she seemed to* feel so 
perfectly at home in addressing a young 
lady she had never seen before, tliat ]\liss 
Parliu was quite astonished, as well as a 
little inclined to smile. 

Then Ruthie went on to talk about the 
war. Susy listened in mute despair, for 
she did not know anything about politics 
Aunt jNIadge looked at Susy’s face, and felt 
amused, for lluthie knew nothing about 
politics either : she was as ignorant as Susy. 
She had only heard her mother and other 


156 


SISTER SUSY. 


ladies talking together. Ruthie answered 
all the purpose of a parrot hung up in a 
cage, for she caught and echoed everything 
that was said, not having much idea what 
it meant. 

When aunt Madge heard Ruth laboring 
away at long sentences, with hard %vords 
in them, she thought of little Dotty, as she 
had seen her, that morning, trying to tug 
I’ercy’s huge dog up stairs in her arms. 

"It is too much for her,” thought aunt 
Madge : " the dog got the upperhand of 
Dotty, and I think the big words are more 
than a match for Ruth.” 

But Ruth did not seem to know it, for 
she persevered. She gravely asked aunt 
M.adgc if she approved of the Mancimation 
of Proclcqmtion” Then she said she and her 
mamma were very much 2wr2}lexetl’’ when 
news came of the last defeat. She would 


RUTIIIE TURNER. 


157 


have said ” surprised^’ only surprised was 
an every-day word, and not up to her stand- 
ard of elegant English. 

Ruth was not so very silly, after all. It 
was only when she tried to talk of matters 
too old for her that she made herself ridicu- 
lous. She was very quiet and industrious, 
and had knit several pairs of socks for the 
soldiers. 

As soon as Miss Purlin could disentangle 
herself from her conversation with Ruthie, 
she left the children to themselves. 

" Let’s keep school,” said Prudy. " I’ll be 
teacher, if you want me to.” 

” Very well,” replied Susy, ” we’ll let her; 
won’t we, girls? she is such a darling.” 

''Well,” said Prudy, with a look of im- 
mense satisfaction, "please go, Susy, and 
ask grandma if I may have one of those 
shiny, white handkerchiefs she wears on he' 
and a cap, and play Quaker.” 


158 


SISTER SUSY. 


Grandma was very glad that Priidy fell 
well enough to play Quaker, and lent her 
as much " costume ” as she needed, as well 
as a pair of spectacles without eyes, which 
the children often borrowed for their plays, 
fancying that they added to the dignity of 
the wearer. 

When Prudy was hiirly equipped, she was 
a droll little Quakeress, surely, and grandina 
had to be called up from the kitchen to be- 
hold her with her own eyes. The little soft 
face, almost lost in the folds of the expan- 
sive cap, Avas every bit as solemn as if she 
had been, as aunt Madge said, " a hundred 
years old, and very old for her age.” 

She Avas really a SAveet little likeness of 
grandma Kcad in miniature. 

"And their names are alike, too,” said 
Susy : "grandma’s name is Prudence, and so 
is Prudy’s.” 





IT V 


4 






1 









nUTIIlE TUUNER. 


159 


’'Used to be,” said Prudy, gravely. 

"Rosy Frances ” was now lifted most care- 
fully into her little wheeled chair, and no 
queen ever held a court with more dignity 
than she assumed as she smoothed into place 
the folds of her grandma’s snowy kerchief, 
which she wore about her neck. 

"What shall we do first?” said Flossy 
and Susy. 

" Thee ? thee ? ” Prudy considered " thee ” 
the most important word of all. " Why, 
thee may behave ; I mean, behave thy selves''* 

The new teacher had not collected her 
ideas yet. 

" Let’s get our books together,” said Susy, 
" and then we’ll all sit on the sofa and 
study.” 

"Ide, me,” chimed in Dotty Dimple, drop- 
ping the little carriage in which she waa 
wheeling her kitty; "me, too!” 


SISTER SUSY. 


I GO 


’’AVell, if you must, you must; snuggle 
in here between Flossy and me,” said Susy, 
who was determined that to-day everything 
should go on pleasantly. 

" Sixteenth class in joggerphy,” said ]\Iiss 
Rosy Frances, peeping severely over her 
spectacles. "Be spry quick!” 

The three pupils stood up in a row, hold- 
ing their books close to their faces. 

" Thee may hold out your hands now, 
and I shall ferule thee — the whole school,” 
was the stern remark of the young teacher, 
as she took oft’ her spectacles to wipe the 
holes. 

"Why, we haven’t been doing anything,’' 
said Ruthie, affecting to cry. 

"No, I know it; but thce’d oufjht to have 
been doing something ; thee’d ought to have 
studied thy lessons.” 

** But, teacher, we didn’t have time,” 


liUTlIlE TUKNEli. 


IGl 


pleaded Flossy ; " you called us out so 
quick ! Vi on’t you forgive us ! ” 

” Yes, I will,” said Rosy Frances, gently ; 
''I will, if thee’ll all speak up ^xtreinely loud, 
and lix thine eyes on thy teacher.” • 

The pupils replied, "Yes, ma’am,” at the 
top of their voices. 

" Now,” said Rosy Frances, appearing to 
read from the book, " where is the Isthmus 
of Susy? ” 

The scholars all laughed, and answered 
at random. They did not know that their 
teacher was trying to say the "Isthmus 
of Suez.” 

The next question took them by surprise : — 

" Is there any man in the moon?” 

" AVhat a queer idea. Rosy,” said Susy j 
''what made you ask that?” 

" ’Cause I wanted to know,” replied the 
Quaker damsel. " They said he came dowa 


162 


SISTER SUSY. 


when the other man was eatin’ porridge. 1 
should think, if he went back up there, and 
didn’t have any wife and children, he’d be 
real lonesome ! ” 

This idea of Prudy’s set the whole school 
to roiuanciug, although it was in the midst 
of a recitation. Flossy said if there was 
a man in the moon, he must be a giant, or 
iie never could get round over the moun- 
tains, which she had heard were very steep. 

Kutliic asked if there Avas anything said 
about his Avife ! Susy, avIio had read con- 
siderable poetry, Avas sure she had heard 
something of a Avoman up there, named 
” Cynthia ; ” but she supposed it Avas all 
moonshine,” or "made up,” as she ex- 
pressed it. She said she meant to ask her 
aunt JMadge to Avritc a fairy story about it. 

Here their progress in useful knoAvledge 
was cut short l)y tlie disappearance of Dotty. 


JiL'TllIE TURNER. 


163 


Looking out of the window, they saw the 
little rogue driving ducks with a broomstick. 
These ducks had a home not far from ]\lrs 
i^irlin’s, and if Dotty Dimple had one temp 
tation stronger than all others, it was the 
sight of those waddling fowls, with their 
velvet heads, beads of eyes, and spotted 
feathers. When she saw them " marshin' 
along,” she was instantly seized with a de- 
sire either to head the company or to march 
ill the rear, and set them to quacking. She 
was bareheaded, and Susy ran down stairs 
to bring her into the house ; and that was 
an end of the school for that day. Dotty 
Dimple was something like the kettle of 
molasses which Norah was boiling, very 
sweet, but very apt to boil over : she needed 
watching. 

When Norah’s candy was brought up 
stairs, the little girls pronounced it ex- 
cellent. 


1G4 


SISTER SUSY. 


" O, dear,” said Flossy, " I wish our girl 
was half as good as Korah ! I don’t see why 
Eleeta and Norah ain’t more alike when they 
are own sisters ! ” 

" What dreadful girls your mother always 
has ! ” said Susy ; " it’s too bad ! ” 

"I know of a girl,” said Prudy, "one 
you’d like ever’n, ever so much. Flossy ; 
only you can’t have her.” 

"Why not?” said Flossy: "my mother 
woidd go hundreds of leagues to get a good 
girl. AYhy can’t she have her?” 

"O, ’cause, she’s dead! It’s Norah’s 
cousin over to Ireland.” 

They next played the little game of guess- 
ing " something in this room,” that begins 
with a certain letter. Iluthie puzzled them 
a long while on the initial S. At last she 
said she meant "scrutau” (escritoire or 
scrutoire), pointing towards the article Avith 
her linger. 


RUTllIE TURNER. 


" Why, that’s a loritiwj-desk^'^ said Susy. 

1 don’t see Avhere you learn so many big 
words, Ivuthie.” 

" O, I take notice, and remember them,’" 
replied Ruthie, looking quite pleased. She 
thought Susy was praising her. 

"Noav let me tell some letters,” said 
Prudy. 

" L. E. She lives at your house. Flossy.” 

Nobody could guess. 

"Why, I should think that was easy 
enough,” said Prudy: "it’s that girl that 
lives there; she takes olf the covers of 
your stove with a clothes-pin ; it’s ' Lecta 
Eosbornd.’ ” 

The little girls explained to Prudy that 
the true initials of Electa Osborne would 
be E. O., instead of L. R. But Prudy did 
not know much about spelling. She had 
known most of her letters ; but it was some 


IGG 


SISTER SUSY. 


time ago, and they had nearly all slipped 
out of her head. 

She said, often, she wished she could 
' only, only read ; ” and Susy oftered tc 
teach her, hut Mrs. Parlin said it would 
never do till Prudy felt stronger. 

I will tell 3'OU now why I think Susy did 
not understand her mother when she said 
Annie was not a suitable playmate. In the 
evening, after Puthie and Flossy were gone, 
Susy said to her mother, — 

" I feel real cross with Puthie, mamma : I 
think she puts herself forward. She goes 
into a room, and no matter how old the 
people are that are talking, she speaks up, 
and says, ' O, yes, I know all about it. I 
never saw such an old-fiishioned little girl.” 

"Very well,” said Mrs. Parlin; "if slie 
is rude, take care that the same fault docs 
not appear in yourself, Susy.” 


RUTIIIE TURNER. 


1G7 


" But, mother,” said Susy, suddenly veer- 
ing about and speaking in Ruth’s favor, "a. 
don’t know but it’s proper to do as Ruthy 
does. If you know something, and other 
people don’t, ain’t it right to speak up and 
say it?” 

" It is never right for little girls to 7no-^ 
nopolize conversation, Susy ; that is, to take 
the lead in it, and so prevent older people 
from talking. Neither is it proper to pre- 
tend to knoAV more than we do, and talk 
of things beyond our knowledge.” 

"I knew you would say so, mother. I 
just asked to hear what you would say. I 
know Ruthie is ill-mannered : do you think 
I ought to play with her any more ? ” 

Mrs. Parlin looked at Susy in surprise. 

”Why, you know, mother, you wouldn’t 
let me play with Annie Lovejoy. You said, 
'evil communications corrupted good man- 


iiers. 


168 


SISTER SUSY. 


"But can’t you see any difference in the 
cases, Susy ? What a muddy little head you 
must wear on your shoulders ! ” 

"Not much of any,” said Susy, trying to 
think; "they’re both hold; that’s what you 
don’t like.” 

"Anything else, Susy?” 

"O, yes, mother ; Riithie’s good, and Annie 
isn’t. It 'vras queer for me to forget that ! ” 

" I should think it was, Susy, since it is 
the only thing of much importance, after all. 
Now, it seems to me yau are very ready to 
cast off your friends when their manners 
offend you. How would you like it to be 
treated in the same way? Suppose Mrs. 
Turner and Ruthie should bo talking to- 
gether this very minute. Ruthie says, 
' That Susy Parlin keeps her drawers in 
a perfect tumble; she isn’t orderly a bit. 
Susy Parlin never knit a stitch for the 


KUTIllE TUKNEK. 


Vi') 

soldiers iu her life. Mother, mayn’t 1 stop 
playing with Susy Paiiiii ? ’ ” 

Susy laughed, and looked a little ashamed. 
"Well, mother,” said she, twisting the 
corner of her handkerchief, " I guess I can’t 
say anything about Euthie Turner ; she’s 
a great deal better girl than I am, any 
way.” 


SISTER SUSY. 


i 70 


CHAPTER Xi. 

SUSY’S BIRTHDAY. 

Days and weeks passed. The snow- 
flakes, which had fallen from time to time, 
and kept themselves Imsy making a patch- 
work quilt for 'mother Earth, now melted 
away, and the white (piilt was torn into 
shreds. The bare ground was all there 
was to be seen, except now and then a dot 
of the white coverlet. It was Spring, and 
3vcry thing began to wake up. The sun 
wasn’t half so sleepy, and didn’t walk off 
over the western hills in the- middle of the 
afternoon to take a nap. 

t 

The sleighing was gone long ago. The 


susy’s birthday. 


171 


roads were dismal swamps. " Wings ” 
would have a rest till " settled going.” 
Susy’s skates were hung up in a green 
baize bag, to dream away the summer. 

The mocking-bird performed his daily 
duties of entertaining the family, besides 
learning a great many new songs. Susy 
said she tried not to set her heart on that 
bird. 

"I’ll not give him a name,” she added, 
'' for then he’ll be sure to die ! My first 
canary was Bertie, and i named the others 
Berties, as fast as they died off. The last 
one was so yellow that I couldn’t help 
calling him Dandelion ; but I wish I hadn’t, 
for then, perhaps, he’d have lived.” 

Susy iiad caught some whimsical notions 
about '' signs and wonders.” It is strange 
how some intelligent children will believe 
in superstitious stories ! But as soon as 


172 


SISTER SUSY. 


Susy’s parents discovei-cd that her young 

4 

head had been stored with such worse than 
foolish ideas, they were not slow to teach 
her better. 

She had a great fright, al)out tliis time, 
concerning Freddy Jackson. He was one 
of the few children who were allowed to 
play in " Prudy’s sitting-room.” He did not 
distract the tired nerves of "llosy Frances,” 
as her cousin Percy and other boys did, by 
sudden shouts and loud laughing. Prudy 
had a vague feeling that he Avas one of the 
little ones that God thought best to punish 
by "snipping his heart.” She knew what 
it was to have her heart snipped, and had 
a sympathy with little Freddy. 

Susy loved Freddy, too. Perha)5s Percy 
was right, when he said that Susy loved 
everything that was dumb ; and I am not 
sure but her tender heart would have 


SUSY'S BIRTHDAY. 


173 


warmed to him all the more if he had been 
stone-blind, as Avell as deaf. 

Freddy had a drunken father, and a sad 
home ; but, for all that, he was not entirely 
miserable. It is only the wicked who are 
miserable. The kind Father in heaven has 
so planned it that there is something pleas- 
ant in everybody’s life. 

Freddy had no more idea what sound is 
than we have of the angels in heaven ; but 
he could sec, and there is so much to be 
seen ! Here is a great, round world, full 
of beauty and wonder. It stands ready to 
be looked at. Freddy’s ears must be for- 
ever shut out from pleasant sounds ; but 
his bright cj'cs were wide open, seeing all 
that was made to be seen. 

He loved to go to Mrs. Parlin’s, for there 
he w'as sure to be greeted pleasantly ; and 
he understood the language of smiles as well 
ns anybody. 


174 


SISTER SUSY. 


When grandma Eead saw him coming, 
she Avould say, — 

"Now, Susan, thee’d better lay aside thy 
book, for most likely the poor little fellow 
will want to talk.’^ 

And Susy did lay aside her book. She 
had learned so many lessons this winter in 
self-denial ! 

These "silent talks” were quite droll. 
Little Dotty almost understood something 
al)out them ; that is, when they used the 
signs : the alphabet was more than she eould 
manage. When Freddy wanted to talk about 
Dotty, he made a sign for a dimple in eaeh 
cheek. lie smoothed his hair when he meant 
Susy, and made a waving motion over his 
head for Prudy, whose hair was full of 
ripples. 

Prudy said she had wrinkled hair, and 
she knew it; but the wrinkles "wouldn’t 
come out.” 


SUSY’S BIRTHDAY. 


175 


Grandma Read sat one evening by the 
coal-grate, holding a letter in her hand, and 
looking into the glowing fire with a 
thoughtful expression. Susy came and sat 
near her, resting one ann on her grandma’s 
lap, and trying in various ways to attract 
her attention. 

"Why, grandma,” said she, "I’ve spoken 
to yon three times ; but I can’t get you to 
answer or look at me.” 

"What does thee want, my dear? I will 
try to attend to thee.” 

" O, grandma, there are ever so many 
things I want to say, now mother is out 
of the room, and father hasn’t got home. 
I must tell somebody, or my heart ^vill 
break ; and you know, grandma dear, I can 
talk to you so easy.” 

" Can thee ? Then go on, Susy ; what 
w'ould thee like to say?” 


12 


176 


SISTER SUSY. 


” O, two or three things. Have you no- 
ticed, grandma, that I’ve been just as sober 
as can be?” 

"For how long, Susan?” 

" O, all day ; I’ve felt as if I couldn’t but 
just live ! ” 

Grandma Read did not smile at this. 
She knew very well that such a child as 
Susy is capable of intense sutfering. 

"Well, Susan, is it about thy sister Pru- 
dence ? ” 

" O, no, grandma ! she’s getting better ; 
isn’t she ? ” 

"Are thy lessons at school too hard for 
thee, Susan?” 

Mrs. Read saw that Susy was very reluc- 
tant about opening her heart, although she 
had said she could talk to her grandmother 
" so easy.” 

" No, indeed, grandma ; my lessons are 


SUSY’S BIRTHDAY. 


177 


not too hard. I’m a real good scholar — ■ 
one of the best iii school for my ao-c.” 

V o 

dhis was a fact. Some people would have 
chidden Susy for saying it; but Mrs. Head 
rchected that the child was only telling the 
simple truth, and had no idea of boasting. 
She was not a little girl who Avould intrude 
such remarks about herself upon strangers. 
But when she and her, grandma were talk- 
ing together conlidentially, she thought it 
made all the dilference in the world; as 
indeed it did. 

" I have a great deal to trouble me,” said 
Susy, and the " evening-blue ” of her eyes 
clouded over, till there were signs of a 
shower. " I thought my pony would make 
me happy as long as I lived ; but it hasn’t. 
One thing that I feel bad about is — well, it’s 
turning over a new leaf. When Xew Year’s 
comes. I’m going to do it, and don’t; so I 


178 


SISTER SUSY. 


wait till my birthday, and then I don’t. It 
seems as if I’d tried about a thousand Ncav 
Years and birthday's to turn over that 
leaf.” 

Grandma smiled, but did not interrupt 
Susy. 

" I think I should be real good,” contin- 
ued the child, "if it wasn’t such hard work. 
I can’t be orderly, grandma — not much ^ 
and then Dotty upsets everything. , Some- 
times I have to hold my breath to keep 
patient. 

"Well, grandma, my birthday comes to- 
morrow, the 8th of April. 1 like it well 
enough ; only there’s one reason why I don’t 
like it at all, and that is a Bible reason. 
It’s so dreadful that I can’t bear to say it 
to you,” said Susy, shuddering, and lower- 
ing her voice to a whisper ; " I don’t want to 
grow up, for I shall have to marry Freddy 
.1 ackson.” 


SUSY’S BIRTHDAY. 


179 


Grandma tried to look serious. 

"Who put such a foolish idea into thy 
head, child ? ” 

" Cousin Percy told me last night,” an- 
swered Susy, solemnly. "How can you 
laugh when it’s all in the Bible, grandma? 
1 never told anybody before. Wait; Pll 
show you the verse. I’ve put a mark at 
the place.” 

Susy brought her Bible to her grand- 
mother, and, opening it at the thirty-lirst 
chapter of Proverbs, pointed, with a trem- 
bling finger, to the eighth verse, which Mrs. 
Read read aloud, — 

" Open thy mouth for the dumb in the 
cause of all such as are appointed to de- 
struction.” 

" Xow Percy says that’s a sure sign ! J 
told him, O, dear ! Freddy ought to marry 
a dumb woman ; that would bo i^roi^erest; 


180 


SISTER SUSY. 


hut Percy suys no — Jiiiything has got 
to ' come to pass ’ Avhen its foreordirM- 
tioned ! ” 

" And could thee really believe such fool- 
ishness, my sensible little Susan? Does 
thee suppose the good Lord ever meant that 
we should read his Bible as if it were a 
wicked dream-book ? ” 

"Then you don't think I shall have to 
marry Freddy Jackson,” cried Susy, im- 
mensely relieved. " I’m so glad I told 
you ! I felt so sober all day, only nobody 
noticed it, and I Avas ashamed to tell ! ” 

" It is a good thing for thee to tell thy 
little troubles to thy older friends, Susan : 
thec’ll almost always find it so,” said grand- 
ma Read, stroking Susy’s hair. 

"Now, my child, I have a piece of news 
for thee, if thee is ready to hear it : thy 
cousin, Grace Clifford, has a little sister.” 


SUSY’S BIKTHDAY. 


181 


"A baby sister? A real sister? Does 
mother know it?” 

"Yes, thy mother knows it.” 

" But how could yon keep it to yourself 
so long ? ” 

"Thee thinks good news is hard to keep, 
does thee? Well, thee shall be the first to 
tell thy father Avhen he comes home.” 

Susy heard steps on the door-stone, and 
rushed out, with the joyful story on her lips. 
It proved to be not her father, but callers, 
who were just ringing the bell ; and they 
heard Susy’s exclamation, — 

"O, have you heard? Grace has a new 
sister, a baby sister, as true as you live ! ” 
with the most provoking coolness. 

But when Mr. Parlin came, he was suffi 
ciently interested in the news to satisfy 
even Susy. 


182 


SISTER SUSY, 


CHAPTER XII. 

FAREWELL. 

Prudy was really getting better. Mrs 
Parlin said she should trust a physician 
more next time. The doctor declared that 
all the severe pain Prudy had suffered was 
really necessary. 

" Believe me, my dear madam,” said he, 

when the poor child has complained most, 
she has in fact been making most progress 
towards health. When the sinews are ' knit- 
ting together,’ as we call it, then the agony 
is greatest.” 

This was very comforting to Mrs. Parlin, 
who thought she would not be discouraged 


FAREWELL. 


18 a 


SO easily again ; she would always believe 
that it is " darkest just before day.” 

There was really everything to hope for 
Prudy. The doctor thought that by the cud 
of three iiioiiths she would walk as well as 
ever. He said she might make the effort 
now, every day, to bear her weight on her 
feet. She . tried this experiment first wifii 
her father and mother ou each side to sup- 
port her ; but it was not many days before 
she could stand firmly on her right foot, and 
bear a little weight on her left one, which 
did not now, as formerly, drag, or, as she 
had said, " more than touch the floor.” By 
and by she began to scramble about on the 
carpet on all fours, partly creeping, partly 
pushing herself along. 

It was surprising how much pleasure 
Prudy took in going back to ' these ways 
of babyhood. 


184 


SISTER SUSY. 


Faint blush roses began to bloom in hei 
cheeks as soon as she could take a little 
exercise and go out of doors. Her father 
bought a little carriage just suitable for the 
pony, and in this she rode every morning, 
her mother or Percy driving ; for Mrs. Par- 
lin thought it hardly safe to trust Susy with 
such a precious encumbrance as this dear 
little sister. 

She had been willing that Susy should 
manage Wings in a sleigh, but in a carriage 
the case was quite different ; for, though in 
a sleigh there might be even more danger 
of overturning, there was not as much 
danger of getting hurt. Indeed, Susy’s 
sleigh had tipped over once or twice in 
turning too sharp a corner, and Susy had 
fallen out, but ' had instantly jumped up 
again, laughing. 

She would have driven in her new car- 


FAIiEVVELL. 


185 


rhige to Yarmouth and back again, or per- 
Jiaps to Bath, if she had been permitted. 
She was a reckless little horsewoman, 
afraid of nothing, and for that very reason 
could not be trusted alone. 

But there was no difficidty in finding com- 
panions. Percy pretended to study book- 
keeping, but was always ready for a ride. 
Flossy was not steady enough to Ije trusted 
with the reins, but Buth Turner was as 
careful a driver as need be ; though Susy 
lauirhed because she held the reins in both 
hands, and looked so terrified. 

She said it did no good to talk with Ruth 
when she was driving ; she never heard a 
word, for she was always watching to see 
if a carriage was coming, and talking to 
herself, to make sure she remembered which 
was her right hand, so she could "turn to 
the right, as the law directs.” 


18G 


SISTER SUSY. 


Prudy enjoyed the out-of-doors world 
once more, and felt like a bird let out of 
a cage. And so did Susy, for she thought 
she had had a dull season of it, and fully 
agreed with Prudy, who spoke of it as the 
"slow winter.” 

But now it was the quick spring, the live 
spring. The brooks began to gossip ; the 
birds poured out their hearts in song, and 
the dumb trees expressed their joy in leaves. 

“ The bobolink, on the mullein-stalk, 

AVould rattle away like a sweet girl’s talk.” 

The frogs took severe colds, but gave 
concerts a little way out of the city every 
evening. The little flowers peeped up from 
their beds, as Norah said, " like babies ask- 
ing to be took ; ” and Susy took them, when- 
ever she could find them, you may be sure, 
and looked joyfully into their faces. She 
could almost say, — 


FAREWELL. 


187 


“ And ’tis my faith that every flower 
Enjoys the air it breathes.” 

She said, "I don’t suppose they know 
much, but perhaps they know enough to 
have a good time : who know’ s ? ” 

Susy took long walks to Westbrook, and 
farther, coming home tired out, but loaded 
with precious flowers. There w’ere plenty 
of friends to give them to her from their 
early gardens : broad-faced crocuses, jon- 
(piils, and lilies of the valley, and by and 
by lilacs, with " purple spikes.” 

She gathered snowdrops, " the first pale 
blossoms of the unripened year,” and May- 
flowers, pink and white, like sea-shells, or 
like " cream-candy,” as Prudy said. These 
soft little blossoms blushed so sweetlj^ on 
the same leaf with such old experienced 
leaves ! Susy said, " it -made her think of 
little bits of children wiio hadn’t any mother, 
and lived with their grandoarents.” 


188 


SISTEli SUSY. 


Dotty was almost craz}^ with delight 
when she had a " new pair o’ boots, and a 
pair o’ shaker,” and was allowed to toddle 
about on the pavement in the sunshine. 
She had a green twig or a switeh to flourish, 
and could now cry, " Hullelo ! ” to those 
waddling ducks, and hear them reply, 
"Quack! quack!” without having such a 
trembling fear that some stern Norah, or 
Arm mamma, would rush out bareheaded, 
and drag her into the house, like a little 
culprit. 

It was good times for Dotty Dimple, and 
good times for the whole flimily. Spring 
had come, and Priidy was getting well. 
There was .a great deal to thank God for ! 

It is an evening in the last of May. A 
bit of a moon, called "the new moon,” is 
j)ceping in at the window. It shines over 
Susy’s right shoulder, she says. Susy is 

P D 1 0. 8 


FAREWELL. 


ws 

reading, Prudy is walking slowly across the 
floor, and Dotty Dimple is whispering to 
her kitty, telling her to go down cellar, and 
catch the naughty rats while they are asleep. 
When kitty winks. Dotty thinks it the same 
as if she said, — 

" I hear you, little Miss Dotty : I’m 
going.” 

I think perhaps this is a good time to bid 
the three little girls good by, or, as dear 
grandma Read would say, " Farewell 1 ” 


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